Tango of the sinners


Immoral, injust

Sin and lust

Fire of desire

Engage, commit, conspire…

I see two shades dancing with impunity

Two empty bodies, becomming unity

With no concern about tomorrow

One drop of extacy for an ocean full of sorrow

Why should we reason our destiny

If the drop is deeper than eternity

Why should we deny this chapter

Let’s live for now and agonize after

Let’s sway to the rythim of disaster

For this is our Dance Macabre

It was all so divine

But we ran out of time


Disgustingly delicious


When I was eleven, I had my first taste of Jamon Serrano. My mother had brought from Spain an entire Jamon which she placed on a special support (soporte jamonero) just like you see in typical Spanish Tapas places. Back then I had a very big appetite for meat, especially red meat. I am also the type of person who is keen on trying new experiences. Seeing the Jamon, nicely placed on its support, I was practically drawling.

Because we were having company over, I was supposed to wait until dinner was served so I don’t spoil my appetite. My expectations grew so much and I was so eager to taste it, that I was the first one who took a seat at the dinner table. I even asked for extra slices as I was super sure that this new food was going to rock my world.

Haha (still funny now)… I was never so wrong. It smelled just like my football socks used to smell after an entire day of kicking the ball. Oh man, I was so disgusted by it that my mother saw it on my face and started laughing about it.

Four years later I moved to Spain. More often than not, there was a Jamon in the kitchen, with a Jamonero (a special knife for cutting thin slices) placed beside it. At first, I was just ignoring it, seeing it more like a pile of dirty socks than a gourmet food.

At some point, I don’t remember exactly how it happened I started tasting it again. I had small bites from time to time, until this very disgusting food started to grow on me. I still thought it’s super grose, but somehow delicious. It did not take too long until this disgustingly delicious food became one of my favourites, especially Pan Tumaca.

Only after clearing my expectations, but even more importantly, my prejudice I was able to really taste and enjoy this food. Before tasting it, I placed it on a golden throne, on top of all the food I tasted before. A completely non-rational decision, more like a chemical reaction. The closest I got to the “love at first sight” feeling.

After I had a first bite, I was so quick to dismiss it, that I did not even conceive giving something so disgusting another bite. How could I eat this smelly dry meat covered in weird looking fat, bleah. How can so many people eat this crap. It took me a while until I opened my mind and decided to give it another chance.

A fresh mindset opens new doors, doors which were once locked. Arriving at a different answer to a question you’ve answered before is a peculiar feeling. One that enlightens us. We all have our own version of the Jamon story. Could be smelly cheese, could be some other part of life, not related to food. Some of us manage to get to the delicious part, others just spit it out in disgust the first time they try it. They do not dare to taste it again, one mouthfull of digusting is enough.

Although I stopped eating meat all together, this story stuck with me. It taught me a valuable lesson and it especially resonates with me now. I never felt so disgusted about something which was once so delicious… and at the same time, something so disgusting never felt so delicious before.

The evil of everyone


The biggest fear of a thief is that of being robbed.

We don’t forgive, we don’t forget. We judge others because their wickedness is disimillar to ours… or perhaps indistinguishable. Darring to throw the first rock and then some more. Guesstimating a person’s worth based on what we feel, for this is the human condition. This is how we shackle our wings and those of ohters, hammering ourselves to live in the dirt. Crawling we may go to our graves, desperately clinging on the strings we put on those which we condemn. We would take it all with us if we could, but everyting will fade away as we give our last breath.

“People forget that even doctors have moral scruples, and that certain patient’s confessions are hard even for a doctor to swallow. Yet the patient does not feel himself accepted unless the very worst in him is accepted too.

No one can bring this about by mere words; it comes only through reflection and through the doctor’s attitude towards himself and his own dark side. If the doctor wants to guide another, or even accompany him a step of the way, he must feel with that person’s psyche. He never feels it when he passes judgment. Whether he puts his judgments into words or keeps them to himself makes not the slightest difference.

To take the opposite position and to agree with the patient offhand is also of no use but estranges him as much as condemnation. Feeling comes only through unprejudiced objectivity. This sounds almost like a scientific precept, and it could be confused with a purely intellectual, abstract attitude of mind. But what I mean is something quite different.

It is a human quality, a kind of deep respect for the facts, for the man who suffers from them, and for the riddle of such a man’s life. The truly religious person has this attitude. He knows that God has brought all sorts of strange and inconceivable things to pass and seeks in the most curious ways to enter a man’s heart. He therefore senses in everything the unseen presence of the divine will.

This is what I mean by “unprejudiced objectivity.” It is a moral achievement on the part of the doctor, who ought not to let himself be repelled by sickness and corruption. We cannot change anything unless we accept it.

Condemnation does not liberate, it oppresses. I am the oppressor of the person I condemn, not his friend and fellow-sufferer. I do not in the least mean to say that we must never pass judgment when we desire to help and improve. But if the doctor wishes to help a human being he must be able to accept him as he is. And he can do this in reality only when he has already seen and accepted himself as he is.

Perhaps this sounds very simple, but simple things are always the most difficult. In actual life it requires the greatest art to be simple, and so acceptance of oneself is the essence of the moral problem and the acid test of one’s whole outlook on life.

That I feed the beggar, that I forgive an insult, that I love my enemy in the name of Christ, all these are undoubtedly great virtues. What I do unto the least o’ my brethren, that I do unto Christ.

But what if I should discover that the least amongst them all, the poorest of all beggars, the most impudent of all offenders, yeah, the very fiend himself, that these are within me, and that I myself stand in need of the alms of my own kindness, that I myself am the enemy who must be loved. What then?

Then, as a rule, the whole truth of Christianity is reversed: there is then no more talk of love and long-suffering; we say to the brother within us “Raca,” and condemn and rage against ourselves. We hide him from the world, we deny ever having met this least among the lowly in ourselves, and had it been God himself who drew near to us in this despicable form, we should have denied him a thousand times before a single cock had crowed.

Anyone who uses modern psychology to look behind the scene not only of his patients’ lives, but more especially of his own life—and the modern psychotherapist must do this if he is not to be merely an unconscious fraud—will admit that to accept himself in all his wretchedness is the hardest of tasks, and one which it is almost impossible to fulfill.

The very thought can make us sweat with fear. We are therefore only too delighted to choose, without a moment’s hesitation, the complicated course of remaining in ignorance about ourselves while busying ourselves with other people and their troubles and sins. This activity lends us a perceptible air of virtue, by means of which we benevolently deceive ourselves and others. God be praised, we have escaped from ourselves at last!

There are countless people who can do this with impunity, but not everyone can, and these few break down on the road to their Damascus and succumb to a neurosis. How can I help these people if I myself am a fugitive, and perhaps also suffer from the morbus sacer of a neurosis? Only he who has fully accepted himself has “unprejudiced objectivity”.

– Carl G. Joung ”

All this may sound so simple and divine. You may feel insipred after reading this. However, in reality accepting the existandce of a shadow self is almost impossible to cope with. Consider for a moment a simbiosis with all that you deem unreasonable, senseless and evil.

In the end, we are who we are, good or bad, handsome or hideous… it all depends on who is made judge.


“Just take it easy, man.”



They say that we travel the world to search for what we need, only to come back home and find it. After a long time away I came to visit what I used to call home. It’s the place where I was born and where I grew up. The place that fostered me but which I outgrew as my wings developed.

My timeline starts in the small town of Slobozia. It’s located in the South-East of Romania, the flat part of the country which is mainly covered in crop fields. Argiculture is the fuel that keeps this little town going. Asside from that and a few pubs there’s nothing much to do arround here. It’s a pretty quiet place, were everyone knows everyone and where nothing ever happens. Or at least it’s how I remember it now…

My parrents divorced when I was young shortly after my mother went to work abroad. I lived with my father until I was fourteen after which I decided to move to Spain and live with my mother. I resided there for two years, in Coslada a small city located only ten mins away of Madrid. Still a small and chill town but with a lot more posibilities than Slobozia.

One summer break when I came to visit my home town, I fell in love with a girl. So much so that I decided to return to my brithplace after two years of living in Spain. My mother was curshed. I didn’t care, I was in love. Shortly after I moved back, I found out that my inamorata was cheeting on me. I was crushed. She didn’t care, she was in love. My revolution was for nothing. Here I was in this boring little town again, feeling more and more like a stranger.

The following year (and a half) I finished highschool and moved to Bucharest to study. My university path did not last long as I dropped out in my second year. I then got a job and shotly after I started my first mature relationship. That marked a moment of profound tranformation, a sort of remembering of who I really was. I started walking that path almost seven years ago and I’m still walking. I’m still discovering myself, still pealing off ego layers.

Last summer we moved to Utrecht, a very pitoresque town found in the rainy lands of The Netherlands. Change brings change and after six years of being together, me and my better half deicded to stop being a couple. We lost each other but found ourselves again as borther and sister.

Like any mango person it did not take me too long to fall in love again. It took me even less to crush and get crushed in return. I’m the optimist, I get burned and heal fast. I don’t look back and I’m allways up for finding the next big thing. Not this time. Not anymore. I wanted to continue my path but lost all frame of reference. Same as any lost person would do, I started drawing maps in the sand figuring out directions for myself.

There’s so many places I want to go. There’s so many experiences I want to taste. Wait. Do I? Really? Not that much. Only after losing everyting I realzied that I don’t want anything anymore. I never wanted it to begin with. The only place I ever wanted to go, was home. Although I had many places I called home, lived in multiple families, I never was home. All this adventrue seeking and soul searching was that of a kid trying to find his way.

Home is not where I was born nor where I grew up. Home is not where I’m living now nor where I want to go next…

Home is where my heart is, so I come to you.

Days of weekends past

Screenshot 2019-09-07 at 14.18.07

We’re not hungry, not that much

Sleep for breakfast, sex for lunch

Then we roll one on the couch

Rainy days typcal Dutch

Now, I feel your tender touch,

Moving gently on my crotch

Then you feel a rising heat

As I wrap between your feet

Those stains are not mayonaise

We get messy when we blaze

Broken glasses on the floor

We’re not gentle anymore

Going deeper as we rise

We’re stargazing in our eyes

Culminating in the sky

This is how we learned to fly

We are so fucking high …

If I were a machine


I wonder, I wonder… If I were a machine, would I be a good one? Would my performance, design and build quality make me as appealing as your favourite gadget? Probably not. But why do I think so? Is it because I don’t live up to my hardware specifications or the user expectations?

What is it exactly that makes a machine great? To answer this question, I did an internal analysis. Based on the data collected after probing my systems, using an introspection tool, I will be able to see why my I’m reporting a low overall rating.

My hardware is pretty decent, nothing is missing, it’s not that old and everything seems to function in normal parameters. It’s not the most technologically advanced piece of equipment, but it’s still above average and even close to some high end models.

After checking the hardware maintenance logs, I see a decline in upkeep frequency and an increased usage of overclocked components. What was curious to see was the overclocking was not done to resolve a high load of processes, but to cancel out some processes that were not responding to root commands. There are no critical warnings so far, but failure to maintain a proper configuration will result in long term hardware damage.

The look and feel got positive user reviews. Some users reported that it looks better than it actually works, other mentioned that they would change certain features or that they preferred features from the previous model which are not available anymore. But the general feedback collected from the user interaction logs is considered to be in the optimal range.

Looking at the software logs, the story is completely different. At a first look everything seems to work just fine, however a closer inspection has identified multiple problem areas. In general, there were far too many processes open which were causing a critical load on the entire machine. Most of the processes are not even required, but remained open in the background as a result of bad security management.

There is one process in particular which received full access without passing any security checks. The user who has input it had no security clearance either. In a very short amount of time, this process which was initially running in the front end became a daemon process. It then began multithreading occupying all the available free memory and processing power. Once it had no more resources to feed on, it started killing other system processes so it can free up some more resources. Ultimately, the system’s resources were fully occupied by this daemon process, which was putting such a high load on the system but wasn’t returning any output. It just kept on going on and on, until it became an infinite loop.

Although not in plain sight, the software plays an essential role in a machine. The hardware without software is just an empty cold box. It may look like a million dollars, but it will just be worth the space it uses in your house.

System failures are a good source of improvement. If you don’t see what’s wrong for yourself, they simply crash everything. The good part is that once everything is down, your full attention and energy will be directed towards solving the problem at hand.

Interpretation for non-geeks

What I mean to say with all this geek crap, which is my weird way of describing  and coping with emotional disorder, is much more simple and concise.

There are very few things in this life that actually deserve my attention. There are even less that deserve my affection. Out of those even less make a connection. Only few connections are worth-while and hardly any are for life. Everything else has no importance, it’s just white noise.

“(…) life is bitter and sweet

choose wise who you will meet

it’s better to make your journey feel good

that actually getting where you should

because life’s too short

to walk in shoes that hurt”

slow breathing

The point of no return


I reached a crucial moment in my life, a point of no return. With every step I have taken and each choice I have made, I came closer to where I am now. In the middle of nowhere, completely lost, I wonder the desert of my soul while running in circles in the maze o my mind. Only three possible outcomes may this journey have. Evolve, lose my mind or die. My own, perfectly designed, natural selection.

It’s 7:30 am and my alarm clock starts, I have to wake up. I don’t feel like showing up today, so I snooze it. I snooze it and skip my morning routine to again snooze it a few more times. I finally decide to go out of bed. It takes me a while but in the end I’m on my feet. On the floor, I see a rainbow coloured string.

Curious, I pick it up and follow it. Even more strange is that it crosses the entire room up until the door. I open the door and see that the rainbow coloured string continued. At this point I am really intrigued and make it my mission to get to the end of it.

I start collecting the string by rolling it in my left hand. Going down the stairs, I continue my journey. I finally reach ground floor and notice that the string comes from the basement. It continued down the stairs until the last room which was dark. Probably the light bulb had burned out, turning the light switch on did not work. I turn on the flashlight of my phone and make my way into the dark room. The string takes me yet to another door which I did not know was there. Opening the door, I discover a long  and wide hallway. It was lit by torches on each side. It was so long that you couldn’t even see the other end.

I continue to indulge in this bizarre trip of mine and keep on following the rainbow coloured string. I lose notion of time and space but continue my journey. The string I was collecting in my left hand got so big that I started rolling it on the ground, like a football. At some point, I don’t know if it took a long time or just a few seconds, I reach the end of the hallway. I find myself in front of a huge door. Once I get closer to it, the door starts opening by itself. Inside, there was an immense room, with pillars shaped like men bearing the weight of the ceiling. The room was filled with strings of all colours, shapes and sizes. Everything is tangled together in a massive… mess.

Am I supposed to untangle them all? I might go crazy before I get to the end of it. I might die before I get to the end of it…

Should I just forget all about it? Just go and close the door behind me. Why not?

Why can’t I let go? Why do I have to choose?

It’s 7:30 am and my alarm clock starts, I have to wake up. I don’t feel like showing up today, so I snooze it. I snooze it and skip my morning routine to again snooze it a few more times. I finally decide to go out of bed. It takes me a while but in the end I’m on my feet.

Where’s the string… ? There’s no string on the floor, but I know realise what my dream meant. The sting is a symbol for choice. I chose to follow inwards, to my core. There I found the collection of all the choices that I have ever made.

The man shaped pillars holding the ceiling on their shoulders are a symbol for the burden of my choices. Each pillar represents a mask I wore at some point in my life. Each mask wearer now carries the burden of his choices.

“ Every path is the right path. Everything could’ve been anything else. And it would have just as much meaning.


Choices … We cannot go back. That’s why it’s hard to choose. You have to make the right choice. As long as you don’t choose, everything remains possible.”

– Mr. Nobody

P.S.: But isn’t not choosing also a choice? …. Ahhh fuck it, I’m going to lose my mind over this.