Down through the rabbit hole

In another moment down went Alice after it, never once considering how in the world she was going to get out again.

The rabbit hole went straight on like a tunnel for some way, and them dipped suddenly down, so suddenly that Alice had not a moment to thimk about stopping herself before she found herself fallimg down a very deep well. Either the well was very deep, or she fell very slowly, for she had plenty of time as she went down to look after her, and to wonder what was going to happen next

English: I don’t really know how to explain it, but it seems like the world, in the mind of a child, is round, and society slowly deals with making it a square. Because it’s easier to explain something that can be divided rationally. Think about it.

The area of a circle is Pi time the radius to the power of two, and Pi is an irrational number through his definition.

The area of a square is the angle to the pwer of two, logically understood by anyone, you obtain a number beautifully delimited spatio-temporally, easy to be fitted between other numbers. So, it’s easier to „take the tuck out with the right medicine” of a square mind than of a round mind.

Unfortunatelly, this transformation has its consequences. You see, a circle is a form perfectly symmetrical by its nature. This way, all that fits in a round mind is a dilated blend, maybe a bit faded, but it means the same thing from any angle you would look at it. On the other side, squareheads have angles, angles form shadows. Ideas gathered in angles get covered by dust. So not all the thoughts from a square mind can be looked at the same way. And if it is to realise that any conceptional thought we have is a part within our mentality which express our behavior in one certain section of life, we can look at them as some individual characters, that work togheter, forming a little society in each person. Well, isn’t it clear enough, don’t we have enough examples, that individuals discriminated from the mass scream after their rights of equality, they sometimes present „disfunctional” mechanisms of coping with life, they are even perceived as truly antagonists of the predetermined order. That’s why many say they talk with the monsters inside their head sometimes, and try in vain to exorcise them, in the most crucial moments of life, the rage of the mental antagonist comes to the surface.


Blue bedroom. Full of me. Full of makeup, notebooks, books, clothes, pencils, markers, diaries, watercolors.

A mind lost in itself, with enough time to self-dissect.

Once, when I was little, I filled the walls of my room with dwarfs. A lot of dwarfs, not only seven, surrounding the room in a reel, and somewhwere in the middle, taller, a Snow White. As I knew to draw people back then, my princess had muddy-green, long and spiky, messy hair, assembling more the snake locks of Medusa. Her eyes were two black holes. Child without enough mind to anchor in reality, who knows how my subconscious intervened, he also dilated then, empty like an unwritten page, to transform all the dolls I would draw in wicked fairies, so inhuman and reckless?

Years passed by, the walls had been repainted in a clearer shade of blue, who knows, could mom’s intuition have been the one to tell her that her daughter is a turmoil of uncontrollable feelings that has to be milded? Was she trying ever since, through parental protection, to cut my wings so that I descend farther among people and don’t scratch again if I am brought down? Now I know this is what she longs for, dear mom.

But then it was useless. All their attempts to rebring me to a decent grey were useless.

Of course, later, my mind became more rational, but its self reflection was still rebelious. So I was detensing from the concrete listening to music for hours, what else to do, for a teen everyday is like summer holyday. After it I would transcribe my favourite lines on the arcades of the walls. My folks couldn’t wipe off entirely the marks ever, and to whitewash the wall must have seemed useless for them.

Then, mom thought that, since I’m always looking for new ways to redecorate the walls, she should buy butterfly stickers. Alas, mom, if you’d only knew that in my subjective, reflective mind, all your measures can’t have other effect but one by the measure of the torrent of words and images I know!

Perhaps you should’ve known that butterflies, for me, are more than some lovely insects flying enchantingally. I’ve always seen butterflies as an archetype for a lost mind.

Romana: Nu stiu cum sa explic asta, dar parca lumea, in capul unui copil este rotunda, iar societatea se ocupa incet de a o face patrata. Pentru ca e mai usor sa explici ceva ce poate fi delimitat rational. Gandeste-te.

Aria unui cerc este Pi ori raza la patrat, iar Pi este un numar irational prin definitie. Aria unui patrat este latura la a doua, logic de inteles pentru oricine, obtii un numar frumos delimitat spatio-temporal, usor de incadrat intre alte numere. Astfel, e mai usor sa „pui la la locul lui cu medicamentul potrvit” o minte patrata decat una rotunda.

Pacat ca aceasta transformare are si consecinte. Vedeti voi, un cerc este o forma perfect simetrica prin natura sa. Astfel, tot ce incape intr-o minte rotunda este un amalgam dilatat, poate fad, dar inseamna acelasi lucru din orice unghi te-ai uita. In schimb, capetele patrate au laturi, iar laturile au unghiuri, iar unghiurile au umbre. Pe ideile din colturi se pune praful. Astfel, nu toate gandurile dintr-o minte patrata pot fi observate la fel. Si daca e sa realizam ca fiecare gand-conceptie este o parte din noi ce ne exprima comportamentul intr-un anumit segment, putem sa le privim ca un fel de personaje individuale, ce lucreaza impreuna, formand o mica lume in fiecare individ. Or, nu e destul de clar, nu avem destule exemple, ca persoanele discriminate in colectiv tipa dupa drepturile lor, prezinta mecanisme „disfunctionale” de coping cu viata, si se transforma in adevarat monstrii antagonisti ai ordinii. De aceea multi spun ca vorbesc cu monstrii din capul lor uneori, si incearca inutil sa-i exorcizeze, in cele mai cruciale momente ale vietii, furia antagonistilor psihici iese la suprafata. Living fast everything, reaching the air si frantically that after a whole day of celebrating life they are already gone.


Camera albastra. Plina de mine. Plina cu farduri, carti, haine, culori, pixuri, markere, jurnale.

O minte pierduta in sine, cu destul timp liber incat sa se autodisece.

Cand eram mica, am umplut peretii cu pitici. Foarte multi pitici, nu doar sapte, dand ocol intr-o hora toti peretii camerei, si undeva in mijloc, mai inalta, o Alba-ca-Zapada. Asa cum stiam sa desenez oameni pe atunci, printesa mea avea parul verde-mal, lung si tepos, dezordonat, mai degraba ca Gorgona. Ochii ii erau doua hauri negre. Copil fara destula minte incat sa se ancoreze in real, cine stie cum a intervenit subconstientul meu, si el atunci dilatat, gol ca o foaie nescrisa inca, sa imi transforme toate papusile desenate in iele, atat de inumane si pline de revolta?

Au trecut ani, peretii au fost revopsiti intr-un albastru un pic mai fad, cine stie, o fi fost intuitia feminina a mamei ca fata ei e un tumult de sentimente incontrolabile care trebuie potolit? De atunci incerca prin tipica protectie parinteasca sa-mi taie aripile ca sa cobor mai mult printre oameni si sa nu ma julesc daca sunt trasa in jos? Acum stiu sigur ca asta incearca, draga de ea.

Dar atunci a fost inutil. Toate incercarile lor de a ma aduce la un cenusiu decent au fost inutile.

Da, mai tarziu mintea mea a devenit mai rationala, dar autoreflectia mea ramanea razvratita. Asa ca ma detensionam de la concret ascultand muzica cu orele, ce altceva sa faci, cand esti copil e mereu vacanta de vara. Apoi imi transcriam versurile preferate pe arcadele peretilor. Ai mei nu au reusit sa le stearga urmele perfect niciodata, dar si sa varuiasca peste li s-a parut inutil probabil.

Apoi mama s-a gandit ca, daca tot caut mereu moduri noi de a intrumuseta peretii, sa cumpere fluturi-stickere. Of, mama, daca ai fi stiut si tu ca in mintea mea, reflectiva, subiectiva, toate masurile tale nu pot sa aiba decat un efect pe masura torentului de imagini si cuvinte pe care le cunosc!

Probabil ar fi trebuit sa stii ca fluturii, pentru mine, sunt mai mult decat niste insecte dragute care zboara feeric. Eu mereu am vazut fluturii ca un arhetip al mintii pierdute. Traind repede totul, inaltandu-se cu atata frenezie in aer ca deja dupa o zi intreaga de celebrat viata nu mai exista.

2 gânduri despre &8222;Down through the rabbit hole&8221;

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