Nu pot s-o iubesc pe Lady Gaga

Nu stiu de ce, dar ascultand "Vincent", imi vine sa zic: "O urasc pe Lady Gaga". Dar apoi realizez ca biata femeie nu are nicio vina. Asa ca o sa zic altceva: "Urasc sistemul care a creat-o pe Lady Gaga". Vreau ca Maria, fetita mea, sa asculte Don McLean si nu 50 Cent, sa se uite la tablourile lui Van Gogh si nu la chilotii lui Gaga. Vreau ca Maria sa priveasca cerul instelat al noptii si nu tavanul cu striatii de otel al mall-ului unde pe ecrane uriase se vad miscandu-se Parazitii, Shakira, Puya, sau Rihanna. Imi doresc ca ea sa-mi spuna "tata, hai sa mergem sambata asta pe munte" si nu "vreau la concertul lui Justin Biber". Imi doresc din tot sufletul sa-mi ceara bani pentru "Minunata calatorie a lui Nils Holgersson prin Suedia" si nu pentru un nou model de telefon mobil.

Dar apoi imi dau seama, cu tristete, ca, de fapt, doresc ca Maria sa se transforme in copilul Raul, cel de acum 40 de ani, sa iubeasca ce iubea el, sa simta ce simtea el...Si asta, pana la urma, nu este OK. Asa ca fie! Mergem la mall, ascultam Puya, vedem filme cu Biber si ne ducem saptamanal la "street-dance". Dar, pentru ca sunt un tip viclean, pun in masina, cand mergem la drum mai lung, muzica "din cealalta". Dau drumul la Cat Stevens, la Don McLean, la Beatles si la Pink Floyd, mai scap cate un Bach ori Chopin (piese scurte), las ca din intamplare sa se auda un Charlie Parker sau o Etta James. Si sper ca timpul lucreaza in favoarea mea.

Starry, starry night.
Paint your palette blue and grey,
Look out on a summer's day,
With eyes that know the darkness in my soul.
Shadows on the hills,
Sketch the trees and the daffodils,
Catch the breeze and the winter chills,
In colors on the snowy linen land.

Now I understand what you tried to say to me,
How you suffered for your sanity,
How you tried to set them free.
They would not listen, they did not know how.
Perhaps they'll listen now.

Starry, starry night.
Flaming flowers that brightly blaze,
Swirling clouds in violet haze,
Reflect in Vincent's eyes of china blue.
Colors changing hue, morning field of amber grain,
Weathered faces lined in pain,
Are soothed beneath the artist's loving hand.

Now I understand what you tried to say to me,
How you suffered for your sanity,
How you tried to set them free.
They would not listen, they did not know how.
Perhaps they'll listen now.

For they could not love you,
But still your love was true.
And when no hope was left in sight
On that starry, starry night,
You took your life, as lovers often do.
But I could have told you, Vincent,
This world was never meant for one
As beautiful as you.

Starry, starry night.
Portraits hung in empty halls,
Frameless head on nameless walls,
With eyes that watch the world and can't forget.
Like the strangers that you've met,
The ragged men in the ragged clothes,
The silver thorn of bloody rose,
Lie crushed and broken on the virgin snow.

Now I think I know what you tried to say to me,
How you suffered for your sanity,
How you tried to set them free.
They would not listen, they're not listening still.
Perhaps they never will...