<?xml version='1.0' encoding='UTF-8'?><?xml-stylesheet href="http://www.blogger.com/styles/atom.css" type="text/css"?><feed xmlns='http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom' xmlns:openSearch='http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearchrss/1.0/' xmlns:georss='http://www.georss.org/georss' xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4112855318491960131</id><updated>2011-07-30T22:26:18.604-07:00</updated><category term='him'/><category term='el.'/><category term='vara'/><title type='text'>open happiness.</title><subtitle type='html'></subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://cannonball-that.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4112855318491960131/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://cannonball-that.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>-marta.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10860062298363681451</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>37</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4112855318491960131.post-5229017310576322066</id><published>2010-09-04T06:33:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-09-04T06:39:32.691-07:00</updated><title type='text'>shimmer.</title><content type='html'>as a kid i used to tink of sunsets as beautiful deaths. as one big ceremony for all the people that died that day. and the sunrises as the arisal of their souls. each and every shade of orange and purple represented a different soul, coming to an end.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;growing up, i realised very few deaths are beautiful. the people dying suffer too much, too many hearts are broken along with death, like plates used to break on our balcony, in small, insignificant little pieces.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;i remember that day he died. i remember how empty i felt, like no emotions could ever run through me anymore. i wanted to cry, i wanted to remember everything, i wanted to forget, i wanted to be happy his suffering came to an end, but i was blank. numb. nothing. as if it was forbidden to continue any emotion i've ever felt before.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4112855318491960131-5229017310576322066?l=cannonball-that.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://cannonball-that.blogspot.com/feeds/5229017310576322066/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://cannonball-that.blogspot.com/2010/09/shimmer.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4112855318491960131/posts/default/5229017310576322066'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4112855318491960131/posts/default/5229017310576322066'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://cannonball-that.blogspot.com/2010/09/shimmer.html' title='shimmer.'/><author><name>-marta.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10860062298363681451</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4112855318491960131.post-332346618726164404</id><published>2010-08-24T13:26:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-08-24T13:27:22.133-07:00</updated><title type='text'>ramble thoughts.</title><content type='html'>delete edit&lt;br /&gt;ramble thoughts&lt;br /&gt;you had freckles across your cheeks, i had cracked veins down mine. &lt;br /&gt;remember our traffic teddy bear? we ripped his left ear so long ago i can’t remember the year. but it was &lt;br /&gt;spring and we both wanted to play with it. back then, we didn’t get along so we played army. the territory &lt;br /&gt;we both wanted was the teddy bear. it lost a bit of West. we started hiding most precious things where he’s &lt;br /&gt;tangled intestines would’ve been. then we grew up. we started hiding packs of cigarettes and lighters, &lt;br /&gt;passing him from onea nother. then you started hiding more. you had won that territory unfair and kept it &lt;br /&gt;for yourself. it killed you. &lt;br /&gt;remember playing battleships on the train? the way people were eating and smoking and we’d just &lt;br /&gt;play. and you’d cheat and i couldn’t’ve cared less because i had you. it was all i needed back than. then i &lt;br /&gt;started needing trust and you needed cigarettes. i needed love you needed treatment.i wanted hope you &lt;br /&gt;wanted death. i never got what i wanted but you, you of all men got death. and it wasn’t even your fault. &lt;br /&gt;remember playing cards in the bathtub?&lt;br /&gt;remember actually fitting in it?&lt;br /&gt;remember the thousands of flowers we must’ve murdered? you said that when you’d die, you wouldn’t &lt;br /&gt;want people murdering flowers for you. unaware of your wish, people stopped murdering flowers short after &lt;br /&gt;you passed away. &lt;br /&gt;remember that night with the cleArest sky? how we’d count shooting stars and satellites and how we &lt;br /&gt;saw that meteorite crossing the sky. how you said it was that woman’s soul, the lady in the house across &lt;br /&gt;the field, who was shot minutes before thAt meteorite flew. maybe you were right. &lt;br /&gt;somehow, the night you died, i saw a shooting star. a small sparkle of hope up there. for some &lt;br /&gt;reason, it never finished that arch they make across the dark sky. &lt;br /&gt;for some reason, i want it to finish it. &lt;br /&gt;so get out of my kitchen and go greet the angels, they’re dying to meet you and i’m dying to miss &lt;br /&gt;you.&lt;br /&gt;i love you, until the universe falls apart.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt; &lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4112855318491960131-332346618726164404?l=cannonball-that.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://cannonball-that.blogspot.com/feeds/332346618726164404/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://cannonball-that.blogspot.com/2010/08/ramble-thoughts.html#comment-form' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4112855318491960131/posts/default/332346618726164404'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4112855318491960131/posts/default/332346618726164404'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://cannonball-that.blogspot.com/2010/08/ramble-thoughts.html' title='ramble thoughts.'/><author><name>-marta.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10860062298363681451</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4112855318491960131.post-7812571762216548633</id><published>2010-04-09T10:27:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-04-09T10:28:16.142-07:00</updated><title type='text'>.</title><content type='html'>anyone is beautiful in the before-sunset light.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4112855318491960131-7812571762216548633?l=cannonball-that.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://cannonball-that.blogspot.com/feeds/7812571762216548633/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://cannonball-that.blogspot.com/2010/04/blog-post.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4112855318491960131/posts/default/7812571762216548633'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4112855318491960131/posts/default/7812571762216548633'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://cannonball-that.blogspot.com/2010/04/blog-post.html' title='.'/><author><name>-marta.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10860062298363681451</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4112855318491960131.post-8872095202567858461</id><published>2010-03-29T00:46:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-03-29T00:58:02.559-07:00</updated><title type='text'>suc de portocale.</title><content type='html'>simt nevoia sa scriu. in mod normal acest sentiment ar fi inlocuit de cel de a spune cuiva tot. uneori, dupa ce trecem peste faza aparent trecatoare de indiferenta,ne amintim cum era cand ne pasa. cand aveam oameni care tineau la noi si invers. si poate da, erau putini, dar nu conta. &lt;br /&gt;si-o data cu nevoia de-a scrie despre nevoia de a vorbi. vreau sa vorbesc cu cineva. acum doi ani, in timpul unei certi, am auzit o explicatie prea sincera sa nu o citez: 'mindria de om prost'; de cele mai multe ori luam decizii cretine, din cauza mindriei, spre exemplu cea de a fi indiferenti, sau de a nu aborda o persoana pentru ca nu a facut-o el/ea inainte.&lt;br /&gt;voi incerca sa-mi pese. e primavara, ce naiba, primavara e pentru schimbari. (:&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4112855318491960131-8872095202567858461?l=cannonball-that.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://cannonball-that.blogspot.com/feeds/8872095202567858461/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://cannonball-that.blogspot.com/2010/03/suc-de-portocale.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4112855318491960131/posts/default/8872095202567858461'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4112855318491960131/posts/default/8872095202567858461'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://cannonball-that.blogspot.com/2010/03/suc-de-portocale.html' title='suc de portocale.'/><author><name>-marta.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10860062298363681451</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4112855318491960131.post-7221976687462648884</id><published>2010-03-27T01:35:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-03-27T01:36:38.847-07:00</updated><title type='text'>about lurrrrve.</title><content type='html'>our love couldn't have ended because it never really started.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4112855318491960131-7221976687462648884?l=cannonball-that.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://cannonball-that.blogspot.com/feeds/7221976687462648884/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://cannonball-that.blogspot.com/2010/03/about-lurrrrve.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4112855318491960131/posts/default/7221976687462648884'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4112855318491960131/posts/default/7221976687462648884'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://cannonball-that.blogspot.com/2010/03/about-lurrrrve.html' title='about lurrrrve.'/><author><name>-marta.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10860062298363681451</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4112855318491960131.post-9081054848397533419</id><published>2010-03-20T16:09:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-03-20T16:26:25.317-07:00</updated><title type='text'>perfecțiunea imperfecțiunii.</title><content type='html'>încă de când eram copil,exista o variantă perfectă a oricărui lucru,oricât de neînsemnat era; lopata perfectă, păpușa perfectă, cabina de la toaleta perfectă. si-apoi erau acele lucruri si mai neinsemnate,la care nu s-ar fi gandit decat o mica parte; camera murdara perfecta,furnica perfecta, placinta de nisip perfecta.   &lt;br /&gt;mi-am amintit toate acestea datorita unei poze ce surprinde momentul unic,plin de fericire,atunci cand ridicam galetusa,la iveala iesind castelul aproape perfect,din nisip umed,"mai de la fund". castelele atingeau vag perfectiunea atunci cand reuseai sa iei nisipul alb "de sub arcuri, care era mai fin decat cel alb pe care calcam.   &lt;br /&gt;aceasta actiune atat de inutila ne umplea inima de fericire,copii fiind. &lt;br /&gt;cafenelele de acum erau bordura aceea in forma de cerc pe care numai noi stim cu cate feluri de lichide am udat-o,de care ne vom aminti ca locul in care daca te loveai, aveai,fara niciun dubiu,capul spart,chiar daca tu cazusesi pe mana.&lt;br /&gt;si-nchei aici,pana nu moare bateria odata cu interesul celuia care citeste.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4112855318491960131-9081054848397533419?l=cannonball-that.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://cannonball-that.blogspot.com/feeds/9081054848397533419/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://cannonball-that.blogspot.com/2010/03/perfectiunea-imperfectiunii.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4112855318491960131/posts/default/9081054848397533419'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4112855318491960131/posts/default/9081054848397533419'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://cannonball-that.blogspot.com/2010/03/perfectiunea-imperfectiunii.html' title='perfecțiunea imperfecțiunii.'/><author><name>-marta.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10860062298363681451</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4112855318491960131.post-7401455343322841496</id><published>2010-03-07T12:18:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2010-03-07T12:19:55.278-08:00</updated><title type='text'>you and me, and a bottle of wine.</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_puOjfHwT330/S5QKZASstwI/AAAAAAAAAF8/ATvg1Tv_4dM/s1600-h/tumblr_kvcljdxU611qzuhd2o1_500.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 316px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_puOjfHwT330/S5QKZASstwI/AAAAAAAAAF8/ATvg1Tv_4dM/s400/tumblr_kvcljdxU611qzuhd2o1_500.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5445989274089207554" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:small;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:'courier new';"&gt;it's that awesome feeling you get walking back home, when you could smile ear-to-ear, but you're afraid the pervs are gonna get you. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4112855318491960131-7401455343322841496?l=cannonball-that.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://cannonball-that.blogspot.com/feeds/7401455343322841496/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://cannonball-that.blogspot.com/2010/03/you-and-me-and-bottle-of-wine.html#comment-form' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4112855318491960131/posts/default/7401455343322841496'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4112855318491960131/posts/default/7401455343322841496'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://cannonball-that.blogspot.com/2010/03/you-and-me-and-bottle-of-wine.html' title='you and me, and a bottle of wine.'/><author><name>-marta.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10860062298363681451</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_puOjfHwT330/S5QKZASstwI/AAAAAAAAAF8/ATvg1Tv_4dM/s72-c/tumblr_kvcljdxU611qzuhd2o1_500.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4112855318491960131.post-2135987488335476608</id><published>2010-03-02T10:26:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2010-03-02T10:27:53.460-08:00</updated><title type='text'>si totul e diferit miercurea.</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_puOjfHwT330/S41Ymi-qt3I/AAAAAAAAAF0/4AeLb7adMRs/s1600-h/tumblr_kvjjk0XPzO1qzuhd2o1_500.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 268px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_puOjfHwT330/S41Ymi-qt3I/AAAAAAAAAF0/4AeLb7adMRs/s400/tumblr_kvjjk0XPzO1qzuhd2o1_500.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5444104943808722802" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:verdana;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;i&gt;este cinematograful ala care miroase a miercuri.&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4112855318491960131-2135987488335476608?l=cannonball-that.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://cannonball-that.blogspot.com/feeds/2135987488335476608/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://cannonball-that.blogspot.com/2010/03/si-totul-e-diferit-miercurea.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4112855318491960131/posts/default/2135987488335476608'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4112855318491960131/posts/default/2135987488335476608'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://cannonball-that.blogspot.com/2010/03/si-totul-e-diferit-miercurea.html' title='si totul e diferit miercurea.'/><author><name>-marta.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10860062298363681451</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_puOjfHwT330/S41Ymi-qt3I/AAAAAAAAAF0/4AeLb7adMRs/s72-c/tumblr_kvjjk0XPzO1qzuhd2o1_500.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4112855318491960131.post-7021726939569410645</id><published>2010-02-28T01:09:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2010-03-02T10:29:06.535-08:00</updated><title type='text'>transformation of the magical power.</title><content type='html'>&lt;span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;See all those little details just waiting there, nestled in their beds?  Well, before you close up shop for the day, those details should be nice  and warm. So make sure they're covered.         &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4112855318491960131-7021726939569410645?l=cannonball-that.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://cannonball-that.blogspot.com/feeds/7021726939569410645/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://cannonball-that.blogspot.com/2010/02/transformation-of-magical-power_28.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4112855318491960131/posts/default/7021726939569410645'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4112855318491960131/posts/default/7021726939569410645'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://cannonball-that.blogspot.com/2010/02/transformation-of-magical-power_28.html' title='transformation of the magical power.'/><author><name>-marta.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10860062298363681451</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4112855318491960131.post-6079427285219050251</id><published>2010-02-25T12:07:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2010-02-25T12:15:48.264-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_puOjfHwT330/S4bZ8btyK1I/AAAAAAAAAFs/Nw25s9sK5OE/s1600-h/tumblr_kufmnunQwX1qzuhd2o1_500.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_puOjfHwT330/S4bZ8btyK1I/AAAAAAAAAFs/Nw25s9sK5OE/s400/tumblr_kufmnunQwX1qzuhd2o1_500.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5442276831978990418" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;blockquote&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:x-large;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/blockquote&gt;&lt;blockquote&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:x-large;"&gt;"&lt;/span&gt;si toate-au fost grozave in acea zi de mai.&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:x-large;"&gt;"&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/blockquote&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:small;"&gt;pina la urma, cu totii ne multumim cu putin. cred. eu cel putin incerc.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:small;"&gt;sentimentul de prima ninsoare este aproape acelasi cu prima zi de caldura. acea zi din februarie tirziu, cind dimineata este o lumina calda, cu nori raspinditi si-ti dai seama ca nu e ger afara. ca nu va mai ninge si ca vor aparea ploile din miezul zilei.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:small;"&gt;acest lucru mi-a infrumusetat ultimele zile. au inceput sa-mi placa vorbele aiurea de dimineata, primele ore.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:small;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:small;"&gt;&lt;b&gt;aberez.&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4112855318491960131-6079427285219050251?l=cannonball-that.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://cannonball-that.blogspot.com/feeds/6079427285219050251/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://cannonball-that.blogspot.com/2010/02/si-toate-au-fost-grozave-in-acea-zi-de.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4112855318491960131/posts/default/6079427285219050251'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4112855318491960131/posts/default/6079427285219050251'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://cannonball-that.blogspot.com/2010/02/si-toate-au-fost-grozave-in-acea-zi-de.html' title=''/><author><name>-marta.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10860062298363681451</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_puOjfHwT330/S4bZ8btyK1I/AAAAAAAAAFs/Nw25s9sK5OE/s72-c/tumblr_kufmnunQwX1qzuhd2o1_500.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4112855318491960131.post-875245786162596438</id><published>2010-02-23T09:00:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2010-02-23T09:11:24.112-08:00</updated><title type='text'>wake me up.</title><content type='html'>&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:small;"&gt;&lt;i&gt;that awkward feeling you get when you realise someone is actually gone.&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:small;"&gt;&lt;i&gt;not &lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:small;"&gt;&lt;i&gt;necessarily&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:small;"&gt;&lt;i&gt; dead, just, out of your life.&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:small;"&gt;&lt;i&gt;that moment when you realise nothing could ever bring them back, at least no the same they were before.&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:small;"&gt;&lt;i&gt;that one moment you realise it, you don't actually feel like crying.&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:small;"&gt;&lt;i&gt;it's just a terrible relief feeling, like something is out of your mind, forever.&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:small;"&gt;&lt;i&gt;but then you realise your mind is sometimes controlled by your heart, and you can't just take someone out of your heart.&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:small;"&gt;&lt;i&gt;you realise no matter what you do, there'll still be those little things that remind you of them instantly, those things that bring up memories to the amnesic persons, those things that makes you smile and cry inside at the same time, the c&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Clich%C3%A9" class="l" onmousedown="return clk('http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Clich%C3%A9','revisions_result','','result','4','','0CBEQhAIwAw')"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:small;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#000000;"&gt;&lt;i&gt;liché&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:small;"&gt;&lt;i&gt; 'your heart is skipping a beat' saying, the &lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:small;"&gt;&lt;i&gt; knot tied in your stomach, the 'urghhhh get out of my freaking mind' feeling.&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:small;"&gt;&lt;i&gt;well, i get that feeling daily. and i've lost two persons, so double that, with knots. and it feels like crap and i just miss you.&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4112855318491960131-875245786162596438?l=cannonball-that.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://cannonball-that.blogspot.com/feeds/875245786162596438/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://cannonball-that.blogspot.com/2010/02/wake-me-up.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4112855318491960131/posts/default/875245786162596438'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4112855318491960131/posts/default/875245786162596438'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://cannonball-that.blogspot.com/2010/02/wake-me-up.html' title='wake me up.'/><author><name>-marta.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10860062298363681451</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4112855318491960131.post-6311881268495108619</id><published>2010-02-08T00:56:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2010-02-08T01:08:22.204-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_puOjfHwT330/S2_UaLjEvzI/AAAAAAAAAEQ/0w2FhxcPy3Q/s1600-h/tumblr_kv0zcdCDS71qzuhd2o1_500.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 386px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_puOjfHwT330/S2_UaLjEvzI/AAAAAAAAAEQ/0w2FhxcPy3Q/s400/tumblr_kv0zcdCDS71qzuhd2o1_500.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5435796821501067058" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"&gt;i&lt;/span&gt;mi place comoditatea.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;comoditatea preentei zilnice a dozei de cola de pe primul raft al frigiderului.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;comoditatea scaunelor antic de comode.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;comoditatea iernii.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;comoditatea cresterii unei flori.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;comoditatea promotiilor de la chiosc, cit si cea a chioscurilor in sine.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;comoditatea dormitului in chiloti.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;comoditatea servetelelor ascunse sub perna.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;comoditatea fiecarei dintre cele 90 de zile de vara.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;comoditatea filmelor vazute pe internet, cit si a celor trase pe dvd, imprumutate.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;comoditatea unei oglinzi pe birou.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;comoditatea prietenilor la distanta.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;comoditatea meditatiilor cu vecini.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;comoditatea unui covor curat, implicit zacutul pe acesta pe timp de luna plina.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;comoditatea zilelor de vara pe balcon, cu dad, jethro tull si facebook.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;comoditatea &lt;/span&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;acelei&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt; bancute din fiecare parc, pe care o descoperi doar incercindu-le pe toate.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;comoditatea de a avea un telescop si de a nu-l folosi in afara verii.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;comoditatea telefoanelor fara clapa.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;comoditatea lipsei parolelor, cu siguranta ca nu va fi nevoie de ele.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;comoditatea inceputurilor, comoditatea sfirsirii.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;comoditatea nepasarii, indiferentei.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;comoditatea paturilor chinezesti, cu saltelele puse direct pe jos.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;comoditatea spatiului.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;comoditatea de a abera, stiind ca maxim doua persoane vor citi mai sus.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4112855318491960131-6311881268495108619?l=cannonball-that.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://cannonball-that.blogspot.com/feeds/6311881268495108619/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://cannonball-that.blogspot.com/2010/02/i-mi-place-comoditatea.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4112855318491960131/posts/default/6311881268495108619'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4112855318491960131/posts/default/6311881268495108619'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://cannonball-that.blogspot.com/2010/02/i-mi-place-comoditatea.html' title=''/><author><name>-marta.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10860062298363681451</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_puOjfHwT330/S2_UaLjEvzI/AAAAAAAAAEQ/0w2FhxcPy3Q/s72-c/tumblr_kv0zcdCDS71qzuhd2o1_500.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4112855318491960131.post-5356851730817472143</id><published>2010-01-25T08:56:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2010-01-25T09:28:52.402-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_puOjfHwT330/S13UwX6F3II/AAAAAAAAAEI/btqXS3lgb70/s1600-h/IMG_5897+copy.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 285px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_puOjfHwT330/S13UwX6F3II/AAAAAAAAAEI/btqXS3lgb70/s400/IMG_5897+copy.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5430730653195164802" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_puOjfHwT330/S13Up28qwcI/AAAAAAAAAEA/P-Zu6dE5rYw/s1600-h/IMG_5897+copy.jpg"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:verdana;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:verdana;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:verdana;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;it's really dark outside but it's the first time i've seen a sunset in a long time. i coil up near the window and close my eyes. whenever i do that, thousands of thoughts block my mind. i filter the important ones, squeezing them in right before my eyes, so i can imagine it. the steam heater has an unusual relaxing power that makes em thing of winter like i used to, when i was a kid. the itunes has selected an alternative rock radio channel that has quite good music, and then i hear our song. i am more than certain that chris de bourgh has NOTHING to do with alternative rock, but there he is, his voice muttering into the imaginary radio microphone, making my heart skip bits and stomach curl into a fire ball in ways i never thought a song could.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:verdana;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;i look up the window and see the moon. it's cheesy and i remember being little and telling mum every once in a while the moon has changed its face. i then found out from my evil realistic brother you can only see one side of the moon, and that's how it's been for thousands of years.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:verdana;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;so the moon displays the same face, but it's the first time i've really looked at it in a while. there's something about it that makes me think of the little prince and how he would travel from star to star. someone recently told me each star might be a planet undiscovered, not appreciated like mars or underappreciated like pluto. nothing. there's nothing we know about the sky above us and yet we pretend to have known everything for hundreds of years. that made me sign up to that astronomy class at the astronomy tower, thing my dad was asking me to do since he bought em that telescope. yeah, i have a huge telescope hidden behind the living-room door that i've only used once, when there was a full moon. then a bug landed on the lens and i couldn't see a thing.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:verdana;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;i realized now, after reading above, that i swerve from the main subject too easily. i let a thought crumble into millions other and i start losing coherence.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:verdana;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;my head aches and i see the paragon, so i end writing here, before i expose my theory about them paragons. oh those paragons.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4112855318491960131-5356851730817472143?l=cannonball-that.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://cannonball-that.blogspot.com/feeds/5356851730817472143/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://cannonball-that.blogspot.com/2010/01/its-really-dark-outside-but-its-first.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4112855318491960131/posts/default/5356851730817472143'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4112855318491960131/posts/default/5356851730817472143'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://cannonball-that.blogspot.com/2010/01/its-really-dark-outside-but-its-first.html' title=''/><author><name>-marta.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10860062298363681451</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_puOjfHwT330/S13UwX6F3II/AAAAAAAAAEI/btqXS3lgb70/s72-c/IMG_5897+copy.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4112855318491960131.post-2077348723278100460</id><published>2010-01-24T09:02:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2010-01-24T09:08:42.698-08:00</updated><title type='text'>azi am prins apusul.</title><content type='html'>&lt;b&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:arial;"&gt;e momentul ala stupid de pe 1 ianuarie, ora 00.01 , sau inceputul de luni, sau intiiul fiecarei luni cind imi zic ca astazi totul va fi cum ar fi trebuit sa fie de mult timp. ca am sa invat din greseli si am sa privesc doar inainte, ca am sa arunc o privre scurta in trecut pentru a-mi reaminti raul sau ca am sa dorm mai putin dimineata. imi doresc sa o iau de la capat, din orice punct de vedere. sa imi pese mai putin , dar totusi mai mult. sa iubesc mai putin, dar totusi mai mult. sa ma schimb incet, icnet, dar totusi observabil. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:arial;"&gt;si la sfarsitul de luni, la 7 dimineata pe 1 ianuarie, si dimineata devreme pe 2 a fiecarei luni,  imi dau seama ca nu pot. nu sunt facuta pentru schimbari. urasc schimbarile mai mult decat urasc farurile masinilor. le urasc, si in acelasi timp tinjesc dupa ele. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:arial;"&gt;vreau sa se observe o schimbare, sa se auda un 'hei, nu mai esti tu.' amuzat, sa ma bucur de fiecare clipa.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:arial;"&gt;si nu pot si fumul de trandafiri dispare si am nevoie de cineva cu dragoste de schimbari, care sa ma-mbratiseze cu a lui si-a lor caldura .&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4112855318491960131-2077348723278100460?l=cannonball-that.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://cannonball-that.blogspot.com/feeds/2077348723278100460/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://cannonball-that.blogspot.com/2010/01/azi-am-prins-apusul.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4112855318491960131/posts/default/2077348723278100460'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4112855318491960131/posts/default/2077348723278100460'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://cannonball-that.blogspot.com/2010/01/azi-am-prins-apusul.html' title='azi am prins apusul.'/><author><name>-marta.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10860062298363681451</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4112855318491960131.post-3512799818370392107</id><published>2010-01-20T10:23:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2010-01-20T10:24:32.157-08:00</updated><title type='text'>song of the week.</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1n1_j_oIOVw&amp;amp;feature=related"&gt;a.&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4112855318491960131-3512799818370392107?l=cannonball-that.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://cannonball-that.blogspot.com/feeds/3512799818370392107/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://cannonball-that.blogspot.com/2010/01/song-of-week.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4112855318491960131/posts/default/3512799818370392107'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4112855318491960131/posts/default/3512799818370392107'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://cannonball-that.blogspot.com/2010/01/song-of-week.html' title='song of the week.'/><author><name>-marta.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10860062298363681451</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4112855318491960131.post-910756990824438042</id><published>2010-01-16T00:57:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2010-01-16T01:09:27.832-08:00</updated><title type='text'>parcul veveriţa .</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_puOjfHwT330/S1GB3gdE6xI/AAAAAAAAAD4/CoVauFhDQbY/s1600-h/miercuri,+11.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 301px; height: 400px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_puOjfHwT330/S1GB3gdE6xI/AAAAAAAAAD4/CoVauFhDQbY/s400/miercuri,+11.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5427261816562838290" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="  color: rgb(51, 51, 51); white-space: pre-wrap; font-family:Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"&gt;&lt;b&gt;totul era atît de bine organizat în vară. de la chiloţii puşi cu blugii ăia largi, la filmele văzute, la străduţe.  &lt;/b&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"   style="font-family:Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;color:#333333;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="white-space: pre-wrap; "&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; color: rgb(51, 51, 51); white-space: pre-wrap; "&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"&gt;&lt;b&gt;intirziatul era cu precizie, zîmbetele erau peste măsură, soarele era aproape mereu acolo.   &lt;/b&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"   style="font-family:Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;color:#333333;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="white-space: pre-wrap; "&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="  color: rgb(51, 51, 51); white-space: pre-wrap; font-family:Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"&gt;&lt;b&gt;totul era spus, chiar dacă rănea, ieşirile erau dese, furnicile cu-a lor ploaie erau puţine.   &lt;/b&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"   style="font-family:Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;color:#333333;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="white-space: pre-wrap; "&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="  color: rgb(51, 51, 51); white-space: pre-wrap; font-family:Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"&gt;&lt;b&gt;răsăriturile erau vizibile la 5 jumate, apusul era greu de văzut, la ora 9.    &lt;/b&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"   style="font-family:Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;color:#333333;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="white-space: pre-wrap; "&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="  color: rgb(51, 51, 51); white-space: pre-wrap; font-family:Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"&gt;&lt;b&gt;căldura era mare, apa puţină, metrourile erau pline.   miercurile erau în fiecare zi, părul era ud, rochiile erau multe.   &lt;/b&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"   style="font-family:Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;color:#333333;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="white-space: pre-wrap; "&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="  color: rgb(51, 51, 51); white-space: pre-wrap; font-family:Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"&gt;&lt;b&gt;terasa din fire era începutul, chestia din cărămidă de jos de la motoare a fost sfîrşitul.    &lt;/b&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"   style="font-family:Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;color:#333333;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="white-space: pre-wrap; "&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; color: rgb(51, 51, 51); white-space: pre-wrap; "&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"&gt;&lt;b&gt;pentru că iar m-a apucat dorul de vară, de începuturi, de simplitate. &lt;/b&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4112855318491960131-910756990824438042?l=cannonball-that.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://cannonball-that.blogspot.com/feeds/910756990824438042/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://cannonball-that.blogspot.com/2010/01/parcul-veverita.html#comment-form' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4112855318491960131/posts/default/910756990824438042'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4112855318491960131/posts/default/910756990824438042'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://cannonball-that.blogspot.com/2010/01/parcul-veverita.html' title='parcul veveriţa .'/><author><name>-marta.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10860062298363681451</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_puOjfHwT330/S1GB3gdE6xI/AAAAAAAAAD4/CoVauFhDQbY/s72-c/miercuri,+11.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4112855318491960131.post-5674868572413643070</id><published>2010-01-02T10:51:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2010-01-04T08:41:06.739-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_puOjfHwT330/S0IZWlOFCgI/AAAAAAAAADw/AypSZ25y76k/s1600-h/relight+my+fire.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 224px; height: 400px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_puOjfHwT330/S0IZWlOFCgI/AAAAAAAAADw/AypSZ25y76k/s400/relight+my+fire.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5422924777046477314" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold; font-family: verdana;font-size:85%;" &gt;lacul cu nuferi și banca de lîngă metrou. apusul din stația de autobuz,topgun și asfalt. skittles,cărți,căldură. filmele de la ora trei și banca teribilă de lemn unde se fuma. atacul bețigașelor parfumate, poveștile de seară. serile cu lună plină și norii/rahații in formă de inimă. beția cînd aproape am zis prea multe. inepuizabilele glume cu chuck norris și partea drăguță din chop suey fluierată. gresia oribilă, plimbarea în soare de pe kisseleff(?) și vastele tale cunoștințe despre personalitate în funcție de zodie.  străduţele pe lângă ambasade şi cum ne alegeam casa în funcţie de balcon. parcul 'veverita', furnici şi ploaia ce-a urmat. cîinele bălos pe care ştiu că nu-l urai şi fostul tău apartament. mersul bare-foot prin ploaie, pe asfalt, praf, căldură. eşarfa gri şi coti cel pe bicicletă. sticla de ouzo cu apă de mare, tricoul maro de la vans şi-mbraţişarea ta cu coate. muşcăturile de mână, skittles, nuferii pe lac.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;te-ai schimbat inobservabil, repede, prea mult. şi-aici închei orice gînd legat de tine. &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4112855318491960131-5674868572413643070?l=cannonball-that.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://cannonball-that.blogspot.com/feeds/5674868572413643070/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://cannonball-that.blogspot.com/2010/01/lacul-cu-nuferi-si-banca-de-linga.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4112855318491960131/posts/default/5674868572413643070'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4112855318491960131/posts/default/5674868572413643070'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://cannonball-that.blogspot.com/2010/01/lacul-cu-nuferi-si-banca-de-linga.html' title=''/><author><name>-marta.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10860062298363681451</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_puOjfHwT330/S0IZWlOFCgI/AAAAAAAAADw/AypSZ25y76k/s72-c/relight+my+fire.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4112855318491960131.post-968192739970332418</id><published>2009-12-29T10:15:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-12-29T10:22:55.378-08:00</updated><title type='text'>venomous poison.</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_puOjfHwT330/SzpI9PElUVI/AAAAAAAAADo/8n9i6opFC3Y/s1600-h/memories+of+everything.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_puOjfHwT330/SzpI9PElUVI/AAAAAAAAADo/8n9i6opFC3Y/s400/memories+of+everything.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5420725318348788050" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;font-family:georgia;" &gt; pentru că azi am revăzut blocul oribil de verde. &lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;font-family:georgia;" &gt; pentru că azi am observat că luna şi-a schimbat faţa. &lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;font-family:georgia;" &gt; pentru că azi aproape că am reuşit să uit de el. &lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;font-family:georgia;" &gt; pentru că azi am primit un hanorac pufos. &lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;font-family:georgia;" &gt; pentru că azi n-am văzut apusul. &lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;font-family:georgia;" &gt; pentru că azi m-am uitat la two and a half men. &lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;font-family:georgia;" &gt; pentru că azi bradul era frumos fără să aprindem luminiţele. &lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;font-family:georgia;" &gt; pentru că azi nu mi-au plăcut cartofii prăjiţi. &lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;font-family:georgia;" &gt;  &lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;font-family:georgia;" &gt; pentru că mâine o să mă plimb prea mult, o să zâmbesc în plus şi o să am meditaţii la română. &lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;font-family:georgia;" &gt;  &lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;font-family:georgia;" &gt; pentru că poimâine o să curăţ prea mult, o să mă agit degeaba şi o să beau. &lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;font-family:georgia;" &gt;  &lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;font-family:georgia;" &gt; pentru că răspoimâine e un nou an, şi-o să dorm în plus. &lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;font-family:georgia;" &gt;  &lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;font-family:georgia;" &gt; pentru că îmi plac 'pentru că'-urile. &lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;font-family:georgia;" &gt;  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4112855318491960131-968192739970332418?l=cannonball-that.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://cannonball-that.blogspot.com/feeds/968192739970332418/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://cannonball-that.blogspot.com/2009/12/venomous-poison.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4112855318491960131/posts/default/968192739970332418'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4112855318491960131/posts/default/968192739970332418'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://cannonball-that.blogspot.com/2009/12/venomous-poison.html' title='venomous poison.'/><author><name>-marta.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10860062298363681451</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_puOjfHwT330/SzpI9PElUVI/AAAAAAAAADo/8n9i6opFC3Y/s72-c/memories+of+everything.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4112855318491960131.post-4048870984105699552</id><published>2009-12-18T11:34:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-12-19T13:53:38.460-08:00</updated><title type='text'>jr rw (it has a meaning.)</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;nasul infundat si ochii infierbantati m-au obosit. afara ninge si nu pot sa ma ridic sa admir. VH1 ma incanta cu ceva 'vintage' si incerc sa adorm. incerc sa nu ma gandesc la faptul ca orice lucru slightly important l-am aflat singura, prin altcineva, si urasc asta. urasc faptul ca oamenilor le este frica de mine, le este frica sa-mi spuna ce cred direct. n-ar fi totul mai simplu?n-ar exista timp irosit, n-ar exista durere, n-ar exista surprindere. poate ar exista timpul irosit pe explicatii, durerea de moment, suprinderea primei ninsori, primei calduri caniculare.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;dar, per total, totul ar fi usor. am trece peste cu o mai mare usurinta si incet incet am uita cum este sa fii ranit, sa nu aflii direct cat de mult te-a uitat o persoana. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;atunci, de ce exista secrete? in vremurile antice ale clasei a6a, &lt;/span&gt;&lt;a style="font-family: georgia;" href="http://absolutley-zero.blogspot.com/"&gt;Mara&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt; mi-a spus ca secretele sunt create pentru a apara adevarul dureros, pentru a proteja. nu mi-a spus cum te protejezi cand adevarul dureros iese la iveala, cand pastrarea secretului si impartisirea lui cu oricine altcineva inafara de tine este mai dureros decat adevarul in sine.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;mara a disparut de mult din peisaj si nimeni nu ar putea sa ma lamureasca mai bine decat ea ce se intampla, cum sa trec peste. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;incep sa ma pregatesc pentru orice alt secret interesant as putea afla indirect, incerc sa invat sa nu mai pun totul la suflet, sa fiu indiferent, ca el.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;reusesc pentru cateva secunde pana cand imi amintesc.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;doare al naibii de tare(sorry mum.) &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;neil young era frumusel cu plete si exista o singura persoana care ar intelege la ce ma refer. acea persoana e la 2000 de km de mine si ii este frica sa-mi spuna cat de mult ma uraste.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;si cred ca sentimentul devine reciproc.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;si, cum am aflat ca sunt ipocrita, nu cred ca am sa-i spun asta. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4112855318491960131-4048870984105699552?l=cannonball-that.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://cannonball-that.blogspot.com/feeds/4048870984105699552/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://cannonball-that.blogspot.com/2009/12/nasul-infundat-si-ochii-infierbantati-m.html#comment-form' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4112855318491960131/posts/default/4048870984105699552'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4112855318491960131/posts/default/4048870984105699552'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://cannonball-that.blogspot.com/2009/12/nasul-infundat-si-ochii-infierbantati-m.html' title='jr rw (it has a meaning.)'/><author><name>-marta.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10860062298363681451</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4112855318491960131.post-7291587631394532866</id><published>2009-11-24T21:32:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-12-29T23:55:52.006-08:00</updated><title type='text'>why use nothing when we had everything?</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;it was something i've only heard of on TV and read about in some med books. surprisingly, i never showed interest in it even though it was about blood. i have had my passion for blood for a while, and i couldn't imagine how it could harm anyone lethally. i was amused by the idea that it could cause death in such a slow, painful way.it was the day mark cut his arm when, ironically, i stopped showing any kind of interest in medicine. ruby, diluted liquid kept running down his tanned arm, and i had no idea how to stop it. he had though, because apperently he's had this for a while.after the blood stopped running, he made me sit down.i couldn't sit in a straight position, so i just layed in the wet grass, waiting for tomorrow.he whispered to me words that would make anyone smile, but i couldn't do that anymore.all i wanted was to remember what that was, if what happens to him can be cured.it couldn't. mark died of leukemia that december, and i wasn't even there for him. all i wanted was him to sing carols with me, but i suppose the angels are pretty glad he's there, to delight them with his soft voice.and i hope his lips are not chapped and pale anymore, i hope his eyes glisten in that hoary shade of them like they used to when he was a kid.i hope he's one of them.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4112855318491960131-7291587631394532866?l=cannonball-that.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://cannonball-that.blogspot.com/feeds/7291587631394532866/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://cannonball-that.blogspot.com/2009/11/why-use-nothing-when-we-had-everything.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4112855318491960131/posts/default/7291587631394532866'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4112855318491960131/posts/default/7291587631394532866'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://cannonball-that.blogspot.com/2009/11/why-use-nothing-when-we-had-everything.html' title='why use nothing when we had everything?'/><author><name>-marta.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10860062298363681451</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4112855318491960131.post-3313713487488049383</id><published>2009-11-17T07:01:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-11-17T07:01:00.200-08:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='him'/><title type='text'>bring that back.</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(0, 153, 0);font-family:courier new;" &gt;i liked how he'd play with me hair when i used to bite his tongue.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4112855318491960131-3313713487488049383?l=cannonball-that.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://cannonball-that.blogspot.com/feeds/3313713487488049383/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://cannonball-that.blogspot.com/2009/11/bring-that-back.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4112855318491960131/posts/default/3313713487488049383'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4112855318491960131/posts/default/3313713487488049383'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://cannonball-that.blogspot.com/2009/11/bring-that-back.html' title='bring that back.'/><author><name>-marta.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10860062298363681451</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4112855318491960131.post-2708502047115135587</id><published>2009-11-10T20:58:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-12-18T11:29:00.236-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="color: rgb(51, 0, 0);" align="center"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 255);font-family:verdana;" &gt;vreau o zi de iulie şi o lună de august.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4112855318491960131-2708502047115135587?l=cannonball-that.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://cannonball-that.blogspot.com/feeds/2708502047115135587/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://cannonball-that.blogspot.com/2009/11/vreau-o-zi-de-iulie-si-luna-de-august.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4112855318491960131/posts/default/2708502047115135587'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4112855318491960131/posts/default/2708502047115135587'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://cannonball-that.blogspot.com/2009/11/vreau-o-zi-de-iulie-si-luna-de-august.html' title=''/><author><name>-marta.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10860062298363681451</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4112855318491960131.post-1555424935756026413</id><published>2009-11-05T19:33:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-11-05T22:28:58.497-08:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='el.'/><title type='text'>come back .</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_puOjfHwT330/SvMx44Cd14I/AAAAAAAAAC0/D7TaQFXLBtk/s1600-h/Autumn_leaf_by_sourcow.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 265px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5400715231332521858" border="0" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_puOjfHwT330/SvMx44Cd14I/AAAAAAAAAC0/D7TaQFXLBtk/s400/Autumn_leaf_by_sourcow.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;not talking to you makes me have nightmares...&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:180%;color:#cc0000;"&gt;~NIGHTLY~&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:180%;color:#cc0000;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:180%;color:#cc0000;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:180%;color:#cc0000;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="color:#cc0000;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="color:#cc0000;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="color:#cc0000;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="color:#cc0000;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#ffffff;"&gt;photo by &lt;/span&gt;&lt;a href="http://sourcow.deviantart.com/"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#ffffff;"&gt;sourcow.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4112855318491960131-1555424935756026413?l=cannonball-that.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://cannonball-that.blogspot.com/feeds/1555424935756026413/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://cannonball-that.blogspot.com/2009/11/come-back.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4112855318491960131/posts/default/1555424935756026413'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4112855318491960131/posts/default/1555424935756026413'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://cannonball-that.blogspot.com/2009/11/come-back.html' title='come back .'/><author><name>-marta.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10860062298363681451</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_puOjfHwT330/SvMx44Cd14I/AAAAAAAAAC0/D7TaQFXLBtk/s72-c/Autumn_leaf_by_sourcow.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4112855318491960131.post-6847199063970024199</id><published>2009-11-05T12:18:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2009-11-05T12:23:34.685-08:00</updated><title type='text'>come make my day.</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_puOjfHwT330/SvMzj8lkPwI/AAAAAAAAAC8/B10M-Y_8H4s/s1600-h/Autumn_III_by_Roux_S.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 306px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5400717070799486722" border="0" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_puOjfHwT330/SvMzj8lkPwI/AAAAAAAAAC8/B10M-Y_8H4s/s400/Autumn_III_by_Roux_S.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="color:#990000;"&gt;pentru ca azi am primit ciocolata negra si frunza de menta separat de la cineva de care uitasem.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="color:#990000;"&gt;pentru ca e genul de lucru care ma face sa zambesc necontrolat.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="color:#990000;"&gt;auzi, tu.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="color:#990000;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="color:#990000;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="color:#990000;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="color:#990000;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="color:#990000;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="color:#990000;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="color:#990000;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="color:#990000;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="color:#990000;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="color:#990000;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="color:#990000;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="color:#990000;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="color:#990000;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="color:#990000;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#3366ff;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#3366ff;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#3366ff;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#3366ff;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#3366ff;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#3366ff;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#3366ff;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#3366ff;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#3366ff;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#3366ff;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#3366ff;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#3366ff;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#3366ff;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#3366ff;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#3366ff;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#3366ff;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#ffcc00;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#ffcc00;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#ffcc00;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#ffcc00;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#ffcc00;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#ffcc00;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#ffcc00;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#ffcc00;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#ffcc00;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#ffcc00;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#ffcc00;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#ffcc00;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#ffcc00;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#ffcc00;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#ffcc00;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#ffcc00;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#ffcc00;"&gt;photo by &lt;/span&gt;&lt;a href="http://roux-s.deviantart.com/"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#ffcc00;"&gt;~roux-s&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4112855318491960131-6847199063970024199?l=cannonball-that.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://cannonball-that.blogspot.com/feeds/6847199063970024199/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://cannonball-that.blogspot.com/2009/11/come-make-my-day.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4112855318491960131/posts/default/6847199063970024199'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4112855318491960131/posts/default/6847199063970024199'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://cannonball-that.blogspot.com/2009/11/come-make-my-day.html' title='come make my day.'/><author><name>-marta.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10860062298363681451</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_puOjfHwT330/SvMzj8lkPwI/AAAAAAAAAC8/B10M-Y_8H4s/s72-c/Autumn_III_by_Roux_S.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4112855318491960131.post-494059927953312782</id><published>2009-10-20T12:09:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-10-20T12:19:49.149-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_puOjfHwT330/St4Mp7QT40I/AAAAAAAAACs/l9NUPw0-E0E/s1600-h/Have_A_Nice_Day_2_by_RichAllen.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 266px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5394763318056706882" border="0" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_puOjfHwT330/St4Mp7QT40I/AAAAAAAAACs/l9NUPw0-E0E/s400/Have_A_Nice_Day_2_by_RichAllen.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ffffcc;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ffffcc;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ffff00;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ffff00;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="color:#666666;"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#333333;"&gt;good people sometimes tell you&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="color:#ffff00;"&gt;'have a nice day'&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color:#333333;"&gt;just cause they know theirs will suck and they wanna know they at least treid to lighten up someone else's fucked up day.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="color:#666666;"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#333333;"&gt;i got a&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="color:#ffff00;"&gt;'have a nice day'&lt;/span&gt;.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color:#333333;"&gt; it sucked.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4112855318491960131-494059927953312782?l=cannonball-that.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://cannonball-that.blogspot.com/feeds/494059927953312782/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://cannonball-that.blogspot.com/2009/10/good-people-sometimes-tell-you-have.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4112855318491960131/posts/default/494059927953312782'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4112855318491960131/posts/default/494059927953312782'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://cannonball-that.blogspot.com/2009/10/good-people-sometimes-tell-you-have.html' title=''/><author><name>-marta.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10860062298363681451</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_puOjfHwT330/St4Mp7QT40I/AAAAAAAAACs/l9NUPw0-E0E/s72-c/Have_A_Nice_Day_2_by_RichAllen.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4112855318491960131.post-5189465113183188657</id><published>2009-10-18T12:18:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2009-10-18T12:28:55.542-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_puOjfHwT330/SttsWLj4oOI/AAAAAAAAACk/dWgOHG2iSec/s1600-h/Touch_It__Take_It_by_SuloinenEnkeli.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 274px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_puOjfHwT330/SttsWLj4oOI/AAAAAAAAACk/dWgOHG2iSec/s400/Touch_It__Take_It_by_SuloinenEnkeli.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5394024107022524642" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 255); font-weight: bold;font-size:100%;" &gt;&lt;br /&gt;i wish for something new.&lt;br /&gt;vreau sa pot sa alerg si sa te sarut cand te uiti in sus la mine.&lt;br /&gt;i wish for something true.&lt;br /&gt;vreau sa arunc pietre in lacul ala ca sa tulbur curentii.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;vreau sa te mai vad zambind din toata inima.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4112855318491960131-5189465113183188657?l=cannonball-that.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://cannonball-that.blogspot.com/feeds/5189465113183188657/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://cannonball-that.blogspot.com/2009/10/i-wish-for-something-new.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4112855318491960131/posts/default/5189465113183188657'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4112855318491960131/posts/default/5189465113183188657'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://cannonball-that.blogspot.com/2009/10/i-wish-for-something-new.html' title=''/><author><name>-marta.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10860062298363681451</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_puOjfHwT330/SttsWLj4oOI/AAAAAAAAACk/dWgOHG2iSec/s72-c/Touch_It__Take_It_by_SuloinenEnkeli.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4112855318491960131.post-7259311529891755770</id><published>2009-10-04T10:56:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-10-04T10:59:41.022-07:00</updated><title type='text'>soads and as.</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_puOjfHwT330/SsjiCu5oB1I/AAAAAAAAACc/NtDPe9hD-Ek/s1600-h/destination+unknown.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 226px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5388805490726143826" border="0" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_puOjfHwT330/SsjiCu5oB1I/AAAAAAAAACc/NtDPe9hD-Ek/s400/destination+unknown.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;          &lt;span style="color:#ffffff;"&gt;      take my wishes and put em up on the wall for the whole world to see i'm a dreamer.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4112855318491960131-7259311529891755770?l=cannonball-that.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://cannonball-that.blogspot.com/feeds/7259311529891755770/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://cannonball-that.blogspot.com/2009/10/soads-and-as.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4112855318491960131/posts/default/7259311529891755770'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4112855318491960131/posts/default/7259311529891755770'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://cannonball-that.blogspot.com/2009/10/soads-and-as.html' title='soads and as.'/><author><name>-marta.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10860062298363681451</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_puOjfHwT330/SsjiCu5oB1I/AAAAAAAAACc/NtDPe9hD-Ek/s72-c/destination+unknown.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4112855318491960131.post-5449302350676365903</id><published>2009-09-30T04:57:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-09-30T05:18:20.153-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_puOjfHwT330/SsNMZWFNgvI/AAAAAAAAACM/ZhFBPyCMQD4/s1600-h/DSCN0163.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 138px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_puOjfHwT330/SsNMZWFNgvI/AAAAAAAAACM/ZhFBPyCMQD4/s400/DSCN0163.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5387233577573122802" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;it's that kind of thing that makes you smile 1 month later, when you remember it. he's that kind of person that whispers "alligator" after someone says "see you later". you're that type of person that doesn't dare holding his hand when you're at the subway and he's really close and doesn't notice you passing by. it's that kind of weather that makes you go in cemeteries and take photos of them dead people's stories written on cold stones. it's that kind of street that makes you tip-toe on every cubic stone, murmuring the "alice in wonderland" song, but not even trying to do that dance. it's that kind of store that smells so good it makes you check what's upstairs, even tho it's the origami section and you hate origami for being so complicated simple. it's that kind of stare that makes your heart pump a little bit more blood through your veins, just because his eyes are black. it's that kind of place that makes you go back home and wear leggings, even tho it's bloody freezing outside and you're no english girl. it's that kind of caffe with that kind of muffin that makes you try for over 1 hour make the internet work, just because you like that british accent of his whispering directions in your ear(s). it's that kind of clock that makes you take photos of it for several times, same angle, hoping that the sun will come out and the clock would actually work. it's that kind of free cappuccino that has cinnamon heart-shaped spread over it that makes you hold the paper cup in you're hands till the coffee's all cold and you decide to drink the heart whole, hoping the caffeine will fill your heart. it's that kind of sunset that makes you climb the fence to see the last bits of it, even tho you feel someone pulling your jacket saying "they might catch you darling". it's that kind of old old train where there's a deadly drunk young man talking bout stars on the sky and calling everybody 'john'.&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#CCCCCC;"&gt;i'm that kind of girl that talks about going to england as if i were in love.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#CCCCCC;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#CCCCCC;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#CCCCCC;"&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:small;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#CCCCCC;"&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#CCCCCC;"&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#CCCCCC;"&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#CCCCCC;"&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#CCCCCC;"&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#CCCCCC;"&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#CCCCCC;"&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#CCCCCC;"&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#CCCCCC;"&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:small;"&gt;*this post might receive a fancy edit.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4112855318491960131-5449302350676365903?l=cannonball-that.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://cannonball-that.blogspot.com/feeds/5449302350676365903/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://cannonball-that.blogspot.com/2009/09/its-that-kind-of-thing-that-makes-you.html#comment-form' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4112855318491960131/posts/default/5449302350676365903'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4112855318491960131/posts/default/5449302350676365903'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://cannonball-that.blogspot.com/2009/09/its-that-kind-of-thing-that-makes-you.html' title=''/><author><name>-marta.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10860062298363681451</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_puOjfHwT330/SsNMZWFNgvI/AAAAAAAAACM/ZhFBPyCMQD4/s72-c/DSCN0163.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4112855318491960131.post-7319420574424754143</id><published>2009-09-23T09:05:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-09-23T09:12:18.550-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_puOjfHwT330/SrpHfIj4R2I/AAAAAAAAACE/7nnJRohBc-g/s1600-h/A_Moment_In_Time_by_Pa7NaSS.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 222px; height: 400px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_puOjfHwT330/SrpHfIj4R2I/AAAAAAAAACE/7nnJRohBc-g/s400/A_Moment_In_Time_by_Pa7NaSS.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5384694904674338658" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;font-family:arial;" &gt;ma cuprinde sentimentul acela cand stiu ca ceva rau trebuie sa se intample, insa mai e ceva timp pana atunci. si timpul trece, se scurge, lasand in urma amintiri. si cand se scurge jumatate din timp, ma consolez cu gandul ca mai e acea jumatate. si imi doresc sa profit de bucata aceea, sa arat ca-mi pasa. dar nu reusesc, tot ce reusesc sa fac este sa inchei lucruri care nu ar trebui sa ia sfarsit atat de repede, lucruri care ar putea sa dureze ceva mai mult, dar din frica, incetez totul cu mult mai devreme decat ar trebui. si cand trece de jumatate, totul se reduce la mult mai putin, la cateva ore, asta nefiind jocul imaginatiei mele, fiind o ironie bizara. exact cand lucrurile revin la normal, acel ceva rau se intampla mult mai devreme, mult prea repede pentru a-mi putea controla emotiile&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;font-family:arial;" &gt;.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;font-family:arial;" &gt;in mai putin de 3 zile am sa pierd doua dintre cele mai importante persoane din viata mea si urasc asta cu fiecare parte din mine.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 255);font-size:100%;" &gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://pa7nass.deviantart.com/"&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 255);"&gt;photo&lt;/span&gt;&lt;em style="color: rgb(255, 255, 255);"&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 255);"&gt; copyright ©to ~pa7nass.&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/a&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4112855318491960131-7319420574424754143?l=cannonball-that.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://cannonball-that.blogspot.com/feeds/7319420574424754143/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://cannonball-that.blogspot.com/2009/09/ma-cuprinde-sentimentul-acela-cand-stiu.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4112855318491960131/posts/default/7319420574424754143'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4112855318491960131/posts/default/7319420574424754143'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://cannonball-that.blogspot.com/2009/09/ma-cuprinde-sentimentul-acela-cand-stiu.html' title=''/><author><name>-marta.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10860062298363681451</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_puOjfHwT330/SrpHfIj4R2I/AAAAAAAAACE/7nnJRohBc-g/s72-c/A_Moment_In_Time_by_Pa7NaSS.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4112855318491960131.post-3278086537748157867</id><published>2009-09-16T10:39:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2009-09-16T10:44:52.073-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 255);font-size:85%;" &gt;&lt;span style="font-family: arial; font-weight: bold;"&gt;' i'm just a curbside prophet with my hand in my pocket and i'm waiting for my rocket to come '.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: arial;"&gt;daca are vreun sens, fredonez asta continuu si ma gandesc ce persoana fara inima trebuie sa fiu daca nu imi pasa cat de mult tine o persoana la mine. sau daca nu imi pasa ca mi-o spune sau nu.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: arial;"&gt;' i'm cold-hearted ', she said, throwing away the rose.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4112855318491960131-3278086537748157867?l=cannonball-that.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://cannonball-that.blogspot.com/feeds/3278086537748157867/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://cannonball-that.blogspot.com/2009/09/im-just-curbside-prophet-with-my-hand.html#comment-form' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4112855318491960131/posts/default/3278086537748157867'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4112855318491960131/posts/default/3278086537748157867'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://cannonball-that.blogspot.com/2009/09/im-just-curbside-prophet-with-my-hand.html' title=''/><author><name>-marta.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10860062298363681451</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4112855318491960131.post-1139565900574533035</id><published>2009-09-13T08:12:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-09-13T09:17:45.390-07:00</updated><title type='text'>monsters.</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_puOjfHwT330/Sq0aaBv2G1I/AAAAAAAAABk/dTXVmczxdTQ/s1600-h/the_simplicity_of_sunrises__by_i_auzi.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_puOjfHwT330/Sq0aaBv2G1I/AAAAAAAAABk/dTXVmczxdTQ/s200/the_simplicity_of_sunrises__by_i_auzi.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5380986164225645394" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: arial;"&gt;and his eyes would dash with excitement like a madman's peering at a morbid crime. he would press his fingers on her palms, carving fingerprints on the skin long enough to cause winding shades of plum whorls for a while. she would grab him by the shirt and drag him closer, thrusting his chest with her cheek-bone. he would chuckle, luring her closer to him, holding her tight by the shoulders. she'd inhale, letting his smell glide in, grinning. he'd pass by in silence for a few seconds more, then start releashing a bunch of crowded words bout nonsense perfect things.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: arial;"&gt;it'd all begin on a wednesday, end on that wednesday, but going on forever, in front of the movies.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4112855318491960131-1139565900574533035?l=cannonball-that.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://cannonball-that.blogspot.com/feeds/1139565900574533035/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://cannonball-that.blogspot.com/2009/09/monsters.html#comment-form' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4112855318491960131/posts/default/1139565900574533035'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4112855318491960131/posts/default/1139565900574533035'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://cannonball-that.blogspot.com/2009/09/monsters.html' title='monsters.'/><author><name>-marta.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10860062298363681451</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_puOjfHwT330/Sq0aaBv2G1I/AAAAAAAAABk/dTXVmczxdTQ/s72-c/the_simplicity_of_sunrises__by_i_auzi.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4112855318491960131.post-7002898626698353502</id><published>2009-08-07T16:55:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-08-07T17:21:12.419-07:00</updated><title type='text'>iarba uda.</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_puOjfHwT330/SnzE0mSYy6I/AAAAAAAAABU/2cI8Y_jSGg0/s1600-h/IMG_4083.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_puOjfHwT330/SnzE0mSYy6I/AAAAAAAAABU/2cI8Y_jSGg0/s200/IMG_4083.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5367381263828700066" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;e noapte. e atat de foarte noapte si, pentru prima oara in cateva luni bune, m-a luat frigul. frigul ala de o-sa-se-intample-ceva.mi-a luat 2 ore sa il detectez tho. nu ma atragea ideea de a urca pentru un hoodie, asa ca am ramas aici, intrebandu-ma de ce naiba mi-e frig. apoi, cand discutiile au luat o intorsatura ciudata, mi-am dat seama ca o singura persoana avea puterea sa aiba acest efect asupra mea. poate e si necisitatea unui foc bine facut intr-o casa la munte, avand in vedere ca ploua incontinuu, dar..el. el, care m-a mintit atata timp, inca imi putea ingheta aerul in plamani pentru "several seconds" simt ca treaba asta n-ar trebui sa aiba o lungime mai mare. am tinut si tin la el mult. even tho he freezes my souls cand e pe cale sa zica ca tine la mine. gata, trebuie sa fie scurt.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4112855318491960131-7002898626698353502?l=cannonball-that.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://cannonball-that.blogspot.com/feeds/7002898626698353502/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://cannonball-that.blogspot.com/2009/08/iarba-uda.html#comment-form' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4112855318491960131/posts/default/7002898626698353502'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4112855318491960131/posts/default/7002898626698353502'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://cannonball-that.blogspot.com/2009/08/iarba-uda.html' title='iarba uda.'/><author><name>-marta.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10860062298363681451</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_puOjfHwT330/SnzE0mSYy6I/AAAAAAAAABU/2cI8Y_jSGg0/s72-c/IMG_4083.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4112855318491960131.post-2008809183790529216</id><published>2009-08-05T15:30:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-08-07T10:13:30.384-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='vara'/><title type='text'>sateliti si comete.</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_puOjfHwT330/Snxgr9_zP4I/AAAAAAAAABE/GR48zMU13q0/s1600-h/IMG_4125.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 179px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_puOjfHwT330/Snxgr9_zP4I/AAAAAAAAABE/GR48zMU13q0/s320/IMG_4125.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5367271164411592578" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;e ora 1.stau si ma uit ciudat in jur. un frig asimilat c-un spirit dubios isi face loc printre coastele mele. ating cu varfurile degetelor soba si stalpul de lemn. ma-ndrept spre fereastra si ma uit la luna aia ciudata. o luna de dimensiuni considerabile, si-un luceafar ascuns timid dupa un nor. luna-i plina si eu n-am deci somn. si totusi, totusi nu zambesc.&lt;br /&gt;cred ca intradevar, eu nu stiu sa apreciez lucrurile. nu apreciez ce mi se ofera si asta se pare ca distruge o parte din farmec. intotdeauna, undeva, exista ceva mai bun pe care l-as putea face, un lucru care aparent m-ar face fericita. ma gandesc...&lt;br /&gt;ma gandesc ce ar fi daca lucrurile ar fi altfel. ce ar fi daca as putea sa zambesc tampeste fara sa fie nevoie sa-i fi auzit vocea in acea zi. dar nu pot. m-am atasat mult prea tare.&lt;br /&gt;lumina lunii isi face loc prin geamul murdar si ma loveste-n mutra(am un talent aparte de a strica imaginile feerice). incep sa rontai dintr-un biscuite si ma-ntorc la gandurile-mi purpurii. simt ca vreau sa cobor. vreau sa ma-ncalt si sa plec naibii,sa merg atat cat ma tin muschiuletii. aici insa intervien frica. frica de... singuratate. frica ca la final, nu va fi cineva care ma va astepta zambind, desi am intarziat 10 minute. m-am obisnuit in mod ciudat sa am un scop. incep ceva pentru ca am de ce sa termin. pentru ca stiu ca la final, desi pe parcurs au fost 'obstacole' si piedici, la final el imi zambeste vesel, cu o mana tinand telefonul si cu coatele tinandu-ma strans la piept, facandu-ma sa ma simt in siguranta. caldura aceea de vara si mirosul de parfum aspru (nu stiu daca exista asa ceva) mi-au intrat in rutina si mi-e greu sa-mi imaginez lucrurile fara ele. mi-e greu cand le simt lipsa si mi-e greu cand stiu ca pentru mine inseamna mai mult decat ar trebui.&lt;br /&gt;uneori tot ce-mi doresc este un pachet de carti, un lac cu nuferi, si-un tickle attack de la el. uneori, asta-mi e suficient. alteori, deseori, tanjesc dupa mai mult. sunt lacoma.&lt;br /&gt;e ora doua si au taiat televizorul. imi trag labele de sub fund si lenes, urc scarile catre dormitor. in seara asta, nu pot dormi.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4112855318491960131-2008809183790529216?l=cannonball-that.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://cannonball-that.blogspot.com/feeds/2008809183790529216/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://cannonball-that.blogspot.com/2009/08/e-ora-1.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4112855318491960131/posts/default/2008809183790529216'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4112855318491960131/posts/default/2008809183790529216'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://cannonball-that.blogspot.com/2009/08/e-ora-1.html' title='sateliti si comete.'/><author><name>-marta.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10860062298363681451</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_puOjfHwT330/Snxgr9_zP4I/AAAAAAAAABE/GR48zMU13q0/s72-c/IMG_4125.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4112855318491960131.post-4761690787310968776</id><published>2009-07-29T13:56:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-08-01T20:47:28.085-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='vara'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='el.'/><title type='text'>lamaie.</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_puOjfHwT330/SnULWnLFp5I/AAAAAAAAAA0/RIDdac4yfaI/s1600-h/z196072924.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 266px; height: 400px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_puOjfHwT330/SnULWnLFp5I/AAAAAAAAAA0/RIDdac4yfaI/s400/z196072924.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5365207014182332306" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;imi place. imi place ca ma lasa sa-l tin de mana si-mi place sa zac cu el pe banci. imi place ca ma lasa sa rad degeaba chiar daca nu are vreun sens. imi place cand glumeste-aiurea si ma face sa zambesc.&lt;br /&gt;"si culmea e ca" nici macar nu stiu de ce imi place atat de mult. cred ca e pur si simplu faptul ca am nevoie sa ma atasez de cineva. am nevoie sa stiu ca o persoana va fi mereu aici, langa mine. e genul de persoana care ma lasa sa sar sa-l imbratisez ca-n filmele-alea proaste, care ma strange tare-n brate cand am nevoie si care stie ca ma gadila gatul. m-am atasat prea usor. asta e concluzia. m-am atasat in asa hal incat sunt mai multe lucruri care ar trebui sa-mi aminteasca de altcineva dar care totusi ma duc cu gandul la el. mai multe decat ar trebui, oricum.&lt;br /&gt;cred ca-i genul de persoana care ma poate face sa zambesc, oricand. stie cum sa puna problema, cum s-o faca amuzanta, cum sa traga morale pompoase din ea. stie ca ma gadila coastele si c-am avut pneumonie. acum stii si tu. ^^&lt;br /&gt;dar spre deosebire de cainele de plus din copilarie, el ma asculta mai frumos. el zambeste in timp ce vorbesc si nu se uita-n sus. zambeste cand e frig si-apoi ma strange-n brate. nu stiu de ce m-am atasat atat de mult de el, cred ca a venit la momentul oportun. i-a luat doua luni sa afle cum ma cheama si il ador pentru asta.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;*acest post va avea o nevoie serioasa de completare.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4112855318491960131-4761690787310968776?l=cannonball-that.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://cannonball-that.blogspot.com/feeds/4761690787310968776/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://cannonball-that.blogspot.com/2009/07/lamaie.html#comment-form' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4112855318491960131/posts/default/4761690787310968776'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4112855318491960131/posts/default/4761690787310968776'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://cannonball-that.blogspot.com/2009/07/lamaie.html' title='lamaie.'/><author><name>-marta.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10860062298363681451</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_puOjfHwT330/SnULWnLFp5I/AAAAAAAAAA0/RIDdac4yfaI/s72-c/z196072924.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4112855318491960131.post-2578016052144922709</id><published>2009-07-27T11:17:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-07-28T07:47:48.829-07:00</updated><title type='text'>in our world where there's no time.</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_puOjfHwT330/Sm8PhTLsC3I/AAAAAAAAAAs/QMjbeMCO0uw/s1600-h/25072009127-1.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 121px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_puOjfHwT330/Sm8PhTLsC3I/AAAAAAAAAAs/QMjbeMCO0uw/s320/25072009127-1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5363522745980947314" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;am incercat toata ziua sa scot ceva. am lasat treaba de compose deschisa si ma uitam la hartia alba.&lt;br /&gt;ma gandeam la viata. in general. sau in particular. ma intrebam daca iau problemele ca atare sau le ocolesc pana ce devin mai complicate. am ajuns la concluzia ca le ocolesc. mi-a luat 4 ore si 12 ciocolate sa imi dau seama.&lt;br /&gt;cred ca exagerez , de mult prea multe ori. dramatizez pentru ca finalul mi se pare ca ar fi oricum mult mai tragic. evit sa iau decizii si asta se dovedeste a fi o idee foarte proasta. cand aud lucruri ce necesita gandire le acord mai mult timp decat ar trebui in mod normal. si asta doar pentru ca stiu ca daca ma grabesc sa ajung la o concluzie, va fi una prost-inspirata.&lt;br /&gt;si uneori mi-e atat de frica. mi-e frica ca o sa pierd acele cateva persoane la care tin atat de mult. in mai putin de 2 luni de-acum doua dintre ele pleaca. pleaca la mama naibii. o sa-i vad iarna de craciun (cat urasc termenii astia definitorii pentru doua saptamani de leneveala si multa mancare) si poate primavara de paste. unul dintre ei este omul care m-a ajutat sa devin ceea ce sunt , desi cu care faptul ca locuim sub acelasi acoperis nu-l impiedica sa-si limiteze cuvintele adresate mie cat mai mult cu putinta.&lt;br /&gt;iar celalalt. cred ca este cel mai bun prieten al meu. iarasi un termen difinitoriu inutil. este acea persoana din viata mea cu care vorbesc de la masuri de sutiene la robin williams, si-napoi. este persoana cu care-mi impartasesc romantele esuate desi stiu ca ma iubeste mai mult decat ca pe o sora. nu ma face sa ma simt prost din cauza asta. ma face sa ma simt... altfel. si-o sa-mi fie dor de asta.&lt;br /&gt;cand ma gandesc ca n-o sa mai vedem decat acelasi cer mi se rup bucatele din inima. si desi am fost asigurata ca o sa fie la fel, stiu ca nu-i asa. stiu ca defapt el o sa fie mai distant si eu mai nervoasa. o sa-mi moderez cuvintele cu grija si n-o sa-i mai pot povesti totul.&lt;br /&gt;va fi o ruptura imposibil de lipit cu superglue sau convorbiri despre julia roberts. sau engleza combinata cu romana, sau certurile create doar pentru a ne-mpaca.&lt;br /&gt;o sa-mi fie dor sa ma uit la stand-up-uri cu el.&lt;br /&gt;mi-e dor deja.&lt;br /&gt;mi-e mult mult prea dor pentru a putea face ceva ca sa previn toate acestea.&lt;br /&gt;stiu ca se vor intampla si stiu ca as putea face ceva pentru a opri asta, dar pur si simplu NU POT.&lt;br /&gt;sunt mult prea fascinata de faptul ca va sta in 30 de grade in timp ce eu voi dardai de frig iarna. si de data asta este fascinata intr-un mod rau. foarte rau.&lt;br /&gt;n-am puterea sa imi omor timpul gandindu-ma la altceva sau profitand de luna ramasa.&lt;br /&gt;am doar puterea sa-mi amintesc saptamana trecuta si sa-mi plang de mila.&lt;br /&gt;jalnic.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4112855318491960131-2578016052144922709?l=cannonball-that.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://cannonball-that.blogspot.com/feeds/2578016052144922709/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://cannonball-that.blogspot.com/2009/07/am-incercat-toata-ziua-sa-scot-ceva.html#comment-form' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4112855318491960131/posts/default/2578016052144922709'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4112855318491960131/posts/default/2578016052144922709'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://cannonball-that.blogspot.com/2009/07/am-incercat-toata-ziua-sa-scot-ceva.html' title='in our world where there&apos;s no time.'/><author><name>-marta.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10860062298363681451</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_puOjfHwT330/Sm8PhTLsC3I/AAAAAAAAAAs/QMjbeMCO0uw/s72-c/25072009127-1.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4112855318491960131.post-3181844906403779371</id><published>2009-07-17T10:29:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-07-17T11:02:25.580-07:00</updated><title type='text'>exagerat.</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_puOjfHwT330/SmC8mlMTkLI/AAAAAAAAAAk/mEiL1iOJH34/s1600-h/Morning_Moon_by_nycinderella.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 217px; height: 400px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_puOjfHwT330/SmC8mlMTkLI/AAAAAAAAAAk/mEiL1iOJH34/s400/Morning_Moon_by_nycinderella.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5359490927575666866" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;vreau sa scriu. vreau sa am cum sa imi exprim gandurile in litere aruncate aleatoriu unele langa altele, forand cuvinte bizare. si as putea. as putea sa scriu gandurile care imi trec zilnic prin minte, dar uit. sunt atat de multe, incat cele mai importante isi fac loc pana la un anumit punct al zilei in mintea mea, ca apoi sa dispara in mod misterios.&lt;br /&gt;vreau sa ii spun ce cred. o fac adesea, dar nu in cantitatea in care ar trebui. vreau sa stie ca ma urmareste cumva, mereu, oriunde merg.&lt;br /&gt;vreau sa pot contrabalansa lucrurile bune si lucrurile rele, asa cum facea sharon spitz (lame, stiu) intr-un episod. vreau sa pot face o comparatie plauzibila, in urma careia sa pot trage o concluzie macar decenta.&lt;br /&gt;vreau sa-mi amintesc seara cum ma simt cand ma iei de mana. vreau sa-mi amintesc momentele din filmele pe care le vedem, acele momente speciale in care gandul ca "ba, ar trebui sa notez asta undeva" sa se poata materializa.&lt;br /&gt;probabil ca sunt diferita. vreau prea multe lucruri pe care nu le pot implini de una singura.&lt;br /&gt;si-apoi... apoi imi amintesc. imi amintesc ca alegerile pe care le fac ma vor urmari cumva, mereu. probabil suna aiurea si fara sens sa cred ca imi voi aminti ce se-ntampla cu mine. in mod normal, sentimentele n-ar prinde viata, ar sfarsi tragic precum gandurile-mi.&lt;br /&gt;dar cand ma uit spre el si imi zambeste, desi se uita-nfata, imi dau seama ca pot sa pastrez anumite trairi, undeva, adanc.&lt;br /&gt;si-inchei aici, incep sa aberez.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;p.s. un gand inca nu a fost omorat ; ''el nu imi spune ca am mainile reci, el mi le ia intr-ale lui si le tine asa, pana cand frigul se evapora''. cred ca este mai curand o idee. o idee ce merita exploatata intr-una din zilele de vara ramase.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4112855318491960131-3181844906403779371?l=cannonball-that.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://cannonball-that.blogspot.com/feeds/3181844906403779371/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://cannonball-that.blogspot.com/2009/07/vreau-sa-scriu.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4112855318491960131/posts/default/3181844906403779371'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4112855318491960131/posts/default/3181844906403779371'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://cannonball-that.blogspot.com/2009/07/vreau-sa-scriu.html' title='exagerat.'/><author><name>-marta.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10860062298363681451</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_puOjfHwT330/SmC8mlMTkLI/AAAAAAAAAAk/mEiL1iOJH34/s72-c/Morning_Moon_by_nycinderella.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4112855318491960131.post-3545150553222430531</id><published>2009-07-16T08:06:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-07-16T08:33:06.193-07:00</updated><title type='text'>vino sa visam sub apa.</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_puOjfHwT330/Sl9E7RRAZzI/AAAAAAAAAAM/T7CNTyTloko/s1600-h/Watermelon_by_Sugarock99.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 225px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_puOjfHwT330/Sl9E7RRAZzI/AAAAAAAAAAM/T7CNTyTloko/s320/Watermelon_by_Sugarock99.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5359077866631882546" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"&gt;si sa atingem nisipul cu degetele. nisipul acela fin ce acopera fundul marii. sa ne tavalim in nisipul aspru de pe plaja.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"&gt; vino sa mancam pestisori ciudati&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"&gt; si sa ne alergam prosteste.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"&gt;vino sa cumparam suveniruri si vino sa ne plangem impreuna.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"&gt; vino sa mancam inghetata veche&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"&gt; si vino sa ne uitam la filme.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"&gt;vino acolo jos,sub stanci, sa ne uitam la soare cum rasare si vino sa vedem ciudata luna.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"&gt;vino sa dansam in ploaia si vino sa facem gratar. vino sa zacem pe sezloange proaste, vino sa zambesti la poze. vino sa ne topim in soarele de august. vino sa bem sprite expirat, sau hai sa bem o bere.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"&gt;vino sa cumparam bomboane si le privim cum se topesc. vino sa ma iei de mana si sa sarim drept in piscina. vino sa ne bronzam cu model, pana cand celofanul arde prea tare. vino sa ne prostim ca prindem peste bare-handed, sau ca am gasit comori.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"&gt;vino sa arunci ceasul, si-apoi sa ne scufundam.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"&gt;vino sa facem castele de nisip, hai sa le udam. vino sa ne uitam la poze cu noi dezbracati, hai sa ne-amintim de cand eram mici.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"&gt;vino sa mestecam guma tare, si-apoi sa ne plangem iar. vino sa ne uitam la seriale pe 2 cm²,sau sa vedem un film prost.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;bold style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"&gt;vino sa visam sub apa, asa cum doar noi stim.&lt;/bold&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4112855318491960131-3545150553222430531?l=cannonball-that.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://cannonball-that.blogspot.com/feeds/3545150553222430531/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://cannonball-that.blogspot.com/2009/07/vino-sa-visam-sub-apa.html#comment-form' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4112855318491960131/posts/default/3545150553222430531'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4112855318491960131/posts/default/3545150553222430531'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://cannonball-that.blogspot.com/2009/07/vino-sa-visam-sub-apa.html' title='vino sa visam sub apa.'/><author><name>-marta.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10860062298363681451</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_puOjfHwT330/Sl9E7RRAZzI/AAAAAAAAAAM/T7CNTyTloko/s72-c/Watermelon_by_Sugarock99.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry></feed>
