There are protests, or maybe a revolution going on in the Republic of Moldova. Much of it sounds similar to what happened here in '89 - the national TV channel airing entertainment shows and cute squirrels while youngsters were breaking into the Parliament building, the rest of Moldova hardly informed about what's going on... not to mention Voronin, who calls them fascists plotting a coup-d'etat (with Romania secretly involved, of course).

I went to a support meeting here in Bucharest, and though it was nationalistic and much of what was said was childish and people were drunk on the hype of it, insulting Voronin and the communism, I stayed to the end. Someone had to say something, if the authorities remain silent and the EU disagrees with the 'violence' of the movement. All this, while in Moldova the internet, TV and phones are down, people can't cross the border and everyone fears for the 20-something aged people who got it rolling. Everyone would rather not question the elections (forged, according to the protestants, opposition parties and mayor of Chisinau) and the timing is so bad that everyone would rather not have this happening at all.

I wonder what will happen next - people seem to think of either a blood bath or a full-blown revolution. I can only hold my fingers very tightly crossed for the safety of the kids and their success, because if this fails I can't really see where else hope could come from. And I do not easily take sides in politics, but this one is pretty obvious to me.

What a messed-up world this is. It will be interesting to see how this is dealt with internationally, if at all.

A  summer day that feels like autumn. And poetry.

"Trees suffering from jaundice come in our way,.
A miracle is illness sometimes.
Instinct with spirit, the faces stretch their pallor,
but nobody searches for healing.

In fall you smile leniently on all your paths.
In fall all people find room together.
And we so mean before
are today good, as if we lifelessly passed
through subterranean auroras.

The gates of the earth have opened.
Hold your hands for the end:
angels have sung all night,
in the forests they've sung all night
that goodness is death."

(Lucian Blaga - Goodness in fall)