bag no.5

A vortex of travelling energies persists, drawn by the magnetism of a small core, rejected, cancelled, ignored, forgotten. At times it deployed its vast aura with remarkable dexterity, managing to slip through, discreetly, steadfast in its determination to remain unnoticed... invisible. Today, however, he does not explain how, he was spotted, perhaps selected, perhaps even deliberately, by an uncontrolled authority or, perhaps it is... it is purely by chance, which would not be excluded, because it happened once before, just once, at the beginning of all beginnings?! So the core, rather surprised, tries to reject with a slightly aggressive firmness the attraction of those colourings, caricatures, fanciful intentions, those aptitudes that do not at all subside, on the contrary, more as if they were chasing it, surrounding it, almost suffocating it. But he didn't give in, he defended the little bastion in which he freely existed... alone.

Ignorând atitudinea deloc prietenoasă, acele energii au pornit o lămurită bătălie pentru izbândă, prin învăluire. S-au înţeles să-l curteze când pe rând, când deodată, dar mai bine deodată, deoarece îşi propuseseră să-l cucerească neapărat şi numaidecât, să-l biruie iar de nu, măcar să-l bântuie. De el aveau nevoie. Neapărat. De ce? Nu prea-şi explicau… O fi gazdă bună? O fi doar atracţia puternică a cărei forţă creştea exponenţial pe măsură ce se apropiau de limita câmpului? În tot cazul, Cineva sau ceva, sau nimeni… a generat o undă.

It was clear then, the hour was being played, the participants were squealing, speeding up the rhythm, humming more and more, the colours were blending, changing, sooner the ridiculous intentions were materialising, and those so called grips seemed not so bad anymore, everything became one, homogeneous, uniform, concrete, surprisingly clear and maybe a bit strange but, connected and somehow... delicate.

Coming back to itself, this little nucleus, which was not really aware of its condition, of its structure, struggled to understand abandoning in a final, definitive end, admittedly defeated, the huge shield it had hastily made for itself once, sighing, in great need being... alone.

Acum, o lua de la capăt. Trebuia. Şi totuşi, de ce el?! Ce au cu el? Ce ar mai putea oferi el? Şi apoi, e cam mic. Mai are o singură scânteie rămasă, una singură şi cam pălită, celelalte i-au fost furate, risipite, strivite, ignorate, hulite, batjocorite până la calomnie, furate din nou… dar, pentru că el nicicum nu se oprea, înaintând încet… foarte încet, s-au înţeles de l-au descălţat, doară doară va face bătături şi se va opri odată-n frász!! În fine, îi va ajunge oare această micuţă scânteie?! Măcar să nu se facă de râs.

So, how big should his work be? Who could use it? Is there anyone?