so it's sunday morning, so lets do some god.
it's gonna be in english, cuz god dont speak no romanian, for sure.
at the most, if they do speak a language from our neck of the woods, that would be for sure Dacian
- like, DUH. i dont know no dacian, my friends.
anyways, back to our plans - and god's sense of humour.
actually, lets begin with the latter.
does god have a sense of humor?
hell yeah! just a few examples:
einstein's 'god doesn't play dice with the universe'
woody allen's 'if you want to make god laugh, tell him about your plans'
anonymous 'I keep trying to lose weight, but god keeps putting donuts in my path'
and there's like gazzilions of these if you go online and google 'god has humour'
to me, thats god's quintessential quality. to me that means benevolence, power, empathy.
the people i have ever liked immensely have all these qualities in abnormal quantities, and what keeps them together, like clay an adobe house, is humour. 
what is humour?
humour is to not take yourself too seriously - which automatically reflects on your capacity to interact and give respect to others. empathy and self-irony may well be god's favourite duo, methinks.
a word on power - humour is a risky behaviour. it takes balls to exercise it, especially in today's world. but humour is also the power to say 'so i was walking  down the street one day' and continue talking about what u did/thought/said that made u feel afraid, perplexed or just plain stupid. exposing yourself like that takes courage and, again, empathy. my fav comedians are the ones that start off with a bunch of sexist racist homophobic jokes that get their audiences rolling - and then they somehow manage to be even funnier talking about how they came to realise they'd been so wrong. thats magisterial pedagogy. it's powerful - the more so cuz it's funny.
oh my god, THIS - from way back in the day, when ted was still a thing:

about (your) plans.
i have a little story. 
my grandma read fortunes sometimes - i 'picked up' the trade and every now and then, extremely rarely, i indulge in it. there's 2 tricks to it:
1. it really only works if you believe it does. why is that? cuz successful reading requires a particular type of connection, which in its turn requires a lowering of guards and an opening to an other that not many people can actually accomplish. like in so many other acts, you and the other person engaged in 'fortune telling' are the two ends of a conductor thing, which in its own turn is part of a system of conducting things - and if they all communicate, then bitches i swear that becomes karma. but it requires both people being able to do that, just. bottom-like, when one reads palms or cards or coffee grains or whatever the medium might be, you're not really reading or guessing enything - but more like shaping karma, with the 'client's' participation.
2. my grandmother taught me that whenever somebody comes to ask to have their fortune told because they really need to know, cuz it's a life and death matter to them, or anything like that - i must always decline. why? cuz if u have placed such high stakes on something, anything, god will be sure to want to teach you a lesson - about humility, selfishness, whatever it is the lack of that makes u obsess about one thing so. thats humour and it's benevolence: setting you straight on the path that is engraved with messages like
'i am not one thing'
'i am so much more than just x'
'i am everything'
'god is a dj'
haha, did u like thaaaaaaaaat?

finally:
last week i was an accessory to white privilege, like big time - for the last time.
i was aware of it while it was happening, i made the decision to go ahead with it consciously, was not 'duped' - therefore im not leaving this here for any 'particular' person to see it :) 
i did it for the pedagogical value of a number/performance i designed as an adieu gig - i've been doing it for a while already, but as of last saturday i will cease any interviews/shows/public appearances. in recent years, especially after the sad end of care and my mom's death, ive been regrouping back to my old modus operandi, as both an activist and teacher: one person at a time, thats the way to stay true to your own promise. it's not large crowds cheering or big money that make god smile. and u want god to smile on you.

ps
this is not a mystical meltdown :)
ive always had a good laugh with god.
te pup si mi-e tare dor de tine, matei <3

when i was in the us for my second fulbright, i taught a bunch of 11th graders for a week and a half. west wilkes, north carolina. la un moment dat am facut o lectie despre dealing with loss. si i-am invatat despre e.e. cummings, si despre buffalo bill. de buffalo bill auzisera cite ceva, de e.e., nu.
​cummings are o poezie pe care a scris-o pe o hirtie cu antetul firmei la care lucra el ceva job mizer la un moment dat, in dimineata zilei in care a aflat din ziar c-a murit bufallo bill, eroul copilariei lui, supermanul nemuritor care isi dorea el sa ajunga cind se face mare. 

 le-am zis pustilor despre ce insemna moartea lui bill pentru cummings, si cum omu' era super trist si a scris ceva care prinde si fascinatia copilului si tristetea adultului - una potentindu-se pe cealalalta.
si uite asa faceti si voi, i-am intrebat pe pusti? cind moare cineva pe care-l stiti, va intristati, nu?
ei ca da, ca uneori arata asta, ca alteori nu, ca depinde daca esti in public sau nu, din astea. 
ei, la noi la tigani e altfel, le zic.
- cum adica altfel, ridica pustii mirati sprincenele? adica voua nu va pare rau cind va moare cineva? 
ba da bai, normal ne pare. uneori ne pare atit de rau uneori ca raminem asa, blocati in jale si doliu forever. da' cind sintem pe linga sufletul celui care sta sa plece la odihna, ne scremem sa ne veselim si sa glumim si facem tot felul de chestii ca sa-i aratam mortului ca nu sintem praf, ca sintem ok si ca poate sa plece linistit.
​ca daca mortu' vede ca sintem chinuiti si ne dam cu capul de pereti si ne facem rau, nu poate sa plece, nu poate sa ne lase asa, u kno?
si le-am pus scena asta, dupa ce le-am zis uite aici mosul asta isidor tocmai a aflat ca a murit un tovaras de-al lui:

bai frate, si au inteles.
li s-a parut misto si s-au chiar emotionat.
dupa ce am plecat, mi-au parvenit de la ei niste scrisori de pa-pa si ceva ginduri despre experienta cu mine, ce le-a placut cel mai mult, ce nu, din astea.
un copil mi-a scris un epitaf, ca si cum plecarea mea era de tot
- ceea ce de fapt si cam era, intr-un fel. 

o bucatica din mine a murit cind am aflat martea trecuta c-ai murit, dragonule matei.
deci e in ordine sa-mi citesti epitaful, ia de te ride nah firialdreaq tu de nesimtit care te-ai dus.
vezi ma, vezi? nu sintem praf, si nici nu ne dam cu capu' de pereti, si nici nu ne e frica, si nici furie, si nici jale. sintem bine, si uite iti citim poeziile si ne cacam pe noi de ris, si mai bem un vin si mai ascultam niste avishai cohen la paritate cu niste pearl jam, ca sa putem sa suportam cohenu' - a nu, nu e nimic greu de suportat, doar ca mie personal nu-mi place nici de avishai, nici de leonard, da' ii ascult de-o saptamina in draci ca sa pot cumva sa... keep partying, u kno?  
te pup, babe.
thank you for the laughs, and the balls, and the many kindnesses.