I am considering becoming a redhead.
How very dull of me.
Ignore.
Forgive.
Ignore.
Forgive.
Ignore.
Forgive.
I shout up and cook dinner, the kitchen is where I belong. Next to the stove is my place.
30/11/2008
But
On the upside I have finished looking up all the unknown words of Mr Shakespeare and that was really fun.
I thought you might want to know.
I didn't want to cause you any more sleepless nights over my progress with this doorstopper of tragedy.
Don't worry, now I understand all the lines Julia says.
Calm down.
Go to sleep.
I thought you might want to know.
I didn't want to cause you any more sleepless nights over my progress with this doorstopper of tragedy.
Don't worry, now I understand all the lines Julia says.
Calm down.
Go to sleep.
Gloomy Sunday
It is cold.
It is raining.
It is dark.
November in Budapest.
My flat is a mess, my beliefs in the good will of humankind are a bit shaken and I have now forgot for 4 consecutive days to buy toilet paper.
I have promised to be honest with you.
It is raining.
It is dark.
November in Budapest.
My flat is a mess, my beliefs in the good will of humankind are a bit shaken and I have now forgot for 4 consecutive days to buy toilet paper.
I have promised to be honest with you.
29/11/2008
Budapest is...
...the Paris of the East, you know - I told him walking up Szondi street.
- Budapest is the Paris of Hungary - he replied.
I punished him terribly for being so very cynical.
Than we walked on home through the city of lights, the city of smiles, the city of history.
I feel that the posters that supposed to celebrate the 135 year old city are actually making a mockery of her.
- Budapest is the Paris of Hungary - he replied.
I punished him terribly for being so very cynical.
Than we walked on home through the city of lights, the city of smiles, the city of history.
I feel that the posters that supposed to celebrate the 135 year old city are actually making a mockery of her.
Bookssssssssshit
If you read back earlier posts you will see that at one point I was working on ideas on how to inspire people to read. (If you have already read that than naturally you don't have to go back to earlier posts and I will love you until the oceans come up mountain high)
Anyways, I am about to take the last step towards blissful employment at a fair advertising company if I take my three apparently best ideas even further.
1. Recommending books with wine.
2. Books as fashion accessories.
3. Books. No spam. No viruses. No pop-ups.
I am stuck. Complete creative block.
Help!
Anyways, I am about to take the last step towards blissful employment at a fair advertising company if I take my three apparently best ideas even further.
1. Recommending books with wine.
2. Books as fashion accessories.
3. Books. No spam. No viruses. No pop-ups.
I am stuck. Complete creative block.
Help!
Ha-ha-ha
Are you familiar with the emotional juxtaposition of wanting to write something funny and only being able to think of the lesser entertaining fact, that you have slept through the whole afternoon.
Oh, stop it, hihihihihi
That you picked of all the peppers from your frozen pizza.
lol, lol, you are killing me, lol
That the push-down soap dispenser is almost empty.
Mercy, mercy, have mercy on me, I have already pissed my pants, I have drooled on my keyboard you are so freaking funny.
Sleep...pizza...soap dispenser, how do you come up with this stuff.
Sometimes I split my narrative ego to illustrate my point better.
However it is very dangerous.
Please don't try this at home.
Oh, you did, it again, huhuhuhu, it hurts, it hurts, it is so humorous...
Oh, stop it, hihihihihi
That you picked of all the peppers from your frozen pizza.
lol, lol, you are killing me, lol
That the push-down soap dispenser is almost empty.
Mercy, mercy, have mercy on me, I have already pissed my pants, I have drooled on my keyboard you are so freaking funny.
Sleep...pizza...soap dispenser, how do you come up with this stuff.
Sometimes I split my narrative ego to illustrate my point better.
However it is very dangerous.
Please don't try this at home.
Oh, you did, it again, huhuhuhu, it hurts, it hurts, it is so humorous...
28/11/2008
Fortuna
by Batykó Róbert
After you have walked around in the National Gallery - and tried your utter best to ignore the hideous red marble, on the floor, on the bloody walls too and all the way up on the stairs, for crying out loud - you may want to find out even more at:
www.irokezcollection.hu
Little Miss Hairy
All those sleepless nights.
Hitting the brick wall of ones imagination.
I know.
I might just have a little something for you:
You dont have to thank me.
I am generous.
Just take me out to that very expensive place I like and buy me necklaces.
Naturally you might want to have a better look at the little female freak - we wont tell no one - so I will give you a link to find out more.
http://www.mng.hu/kiallitasok/idoszaki/irokez_english
But let me tell you the inspiration behind Csaba Ungars little doll-lightbox instalation, that will help you tap into the darkest pouches of your unconscious - fun, fun, fun! Here is the story:
Hainau has bought a big house in our fair Hungary somewhere, that was stolen and destroyed by the locals after his death, but while he was still spending time there a rural-legend spread about a daughter he hid in the celler. Legend has it the poor thing was born covered in hair everywhere as a punishment for her fathers sins...
Castle
She went up there with the tiny blue bus that leaves from Moszka Ter.
It has been a very long time since she has seen the gallery - last time that wing was still the ever so progressive Ludvig Museum.
She was 16 and with her best friend at that time Szava Lakos they jumped on the bus no 40.
They were only supposed to go one stop and than get off and go to school.
But they stayed on and went up to the castle to the Ludwig.
Picnic on the ancient ruins and than some modern art.
An other friend of hers who is rather promiscuous at times had a threesome once where they had pick nick with Szava.
Personal histories put places in endless context, his historical place is my table and her bed.
Anyway, I have seen a good exhibition.
Yes.
It has been a very long time since she has seen the gallery - last time that wing was still the ever so progressive Ludvig Museum.
She was 16 and with her best friend at that time Szava Lakos they jumped on the bus no 40.
They were only supposed to go one stop and than get off and go to school.
But they stayed on and went up to the castle to the Ludwig.
Picnic on the ancient ruins and than some modern art.
An other friend of hers who is rather promiscuous at times had a threesome once where they had pick nick with Szava.
Personal histories put places in endless context, his historical place is my table and her bed.
Anyway, I have seen a good exhibition.
Yes.
27/11/2008
Never trust a buda bulb
Whaaaaat????
I hear from the kitchen.
The manly process of changing a light bulb - way up high, there is a land that I hear of once in a lullaby - was interrupted by sheer shock.
He is holding the bulb and looking at it in utter shock and disbelieve.
Only 40 Watts?
I can sense he is keeping his voice steady, but the dramatic gesture gives it all away.
Is that not enough? - I dare ask.
You Europeans just don't believe in light.
Thanks Giving
I once asked, him whom I love, what this special day was all about.
Food.- he said.
Sure, but what would be the historical event and the cultural relevance of it?
Food.
Nothing big happened on the Thursday before the last Friday of November?
Well there was this really hard period where people were dirt poor and than they got good at producing food and they had lots of it.
So they celebrated that they had food.
That is the spirit of Thanks Giving.
Thank You for food God and Mother Nature.
Lets eat.
Life is so clear and uncomplicated in the land of plenty.
Food.- he said.
Sure, but what would be the historical event and the cultural relevance of it?
Food.
Nothing big happened on the Thursday before the last Friday of November?
Well there was this really hard period where people were dirt poor and than they got good at producing food and they had lots of it.
So they celebrated that they had food.
That is the spirit of Thanks Giving.
Thank You for food God and Mother Nature.
Lets eat.
Life is so clear and uncomplicated in the land of plenty.
26/11/2008
Enough
Feed me to the tigers of Pest.
Roll me down the hills of Buda.
Send me pearl-picking to the depths of Danube.
Thank you.
Roll me down the hills of Buda.
Send me pearl-picking to the depths of Danube.
Thank you.
25/11/2008
Future goals
Every so often I find myself searching for a job.
I put big, bold as well as little white lies in my CV, write cheesy and dishonest letters of faked motivation, and wait for the phone to ring.
And so it does and so an interview is scheduled.
And I go in there dressed up like a professional, using my corporate vocabulary, smiling like the very desirable workforce that I am and off they take me to HR to sign a contract.
I whisk them away.
Every so often I find myself in a less desirable interview.
Like bloody today for instance.
Company website good.
Primo location.
But the interview was bad. The talking bit was a piece of cake. I thrive on mentally mutilated questions like Where do you see yourself in 10 years?
But than they wanted me to order around and generate data in an Excel spreadsheet. I am an urban entity, but I would sooner milk a cow.
Than there was translating. Easy.
And than they gave me a precision test. There were about 50 rows, 3 words in every row and I had to circle the one that would come sooner in an alphabetical list.
I don't really know the alphabet. I mean, I am OK with the first bits abcdefg, but than it gets mysterious. I worked in a bookshop for a while and there I had to get better, Shakespeare after Schiller, but I forgot it all.
It was humiliating.
A good interview is a full-ego massage, a mental pampering session, the professional equivalent of oral sex.
A bad interview is the opposite of that.
I cant help but wonder:
What is the opposite of oral sex?
I put big, bold as well as little white lies in my CV, write cheesy and dishonest letters of faked motivation, and wait for the phone to ring.
And so it does and so an interview is scheduled.
And I go in there dressed up like a professional, using my corporate vocabulary, smiling like the very desirable workforce that I am and off they take me to HR to sign a contract.
I whisk them away.
Every so often I find myself in a less desirable interview.
Like bloody today for instance.
Company website good.
Primo location.
But the interview was bad. The talking bit was a piece of cake. I thrive on mentally mutilated questions like Where do you see yourself in 10 years?
But than they wanted me to order around and generate data in an Excel spreadsheet. I am an urban entity, but I would sooner milk a cow.
Than there was translating. Easy.
And than they gave me a precision test. There were about 50 rows, 3 words in every row and I had to circle the one that would come sooner in an alphabetical list.
I don't really know the alphabet. I mean, I am OK with the first bits abcdefg, but than it gets mysterious. I worked in a bookshop for a while and there I had to get better, Shakespeare after Schiller, but I forgot it all.
It was humiliating.
A good interview is a full-ego massage, a mental pampering session, the professional equivalent of oral sex.
A bad interview is the opposite of that.
I cant help but wonder:
What is the opposite of oral sex?
Hunyadi Market
It is therapeutic to walk in there.
Just me and the old ladies during the day.
Tomatoes so red, cucumbers so green, fish, meet, flowers, fresh bread and palacsinta.
Cooking is one of the great creative outlets of everyday life.
Shopping is the foreplay. Markets are sensual.
Go Pest and flirt with robust butchers and handsome man who sell you your carrots.
Just me and the old ladies during the day.
Tomatoes so red, cucumbers so green, fish, meet, flowers, fresh bread and palacsinta.
Cooking is one of the great creative outlets of everyday life.
Shopping is the foreplay. Markets are sensual.
Go Pest and flirt with robust butchers and handsome man who sell you your carrots.
24/11/2008
Snow and cold and lipliner
It is white.
It is cold.
When I was little we used to build a snowman with my grandfather. Nose out of carrot, the works.
Memories in the corners of my mind.
I like snow.
But it is closely related to the true terrors of winter.
Gloves for goodness sake.
Bloody hats - yeah if I didn't look like a midget until now, now I certainly will.
Scarfs, terror, jumpers, horror, thermo underwear, not that I have that, no-no all black lace and red silk naturally, but drama, tragedy, drama.
Like the absurdity of going somewhere important, and you are dressed to kill, and your makeup is flawless, grace-beauty and elegance lingers around you bla-bla bla. And you step into the warm room coming from the cold November streets of Budabloodypest and your nose starts running. Over the Christian Dior lipliner, over the right shade of lipstick. And you keep on smilimg but you know that you will have to blow your nose after the "very nice to meet you"
Or when you panic-stripp in front of the toilett. Three layers of clothing and minimal bladder-control left.
And sometimes the bus doesnt come for the longest time, or an icecicle almost kills you, and you either dress like a lady and break your neck or look like a tramp but be save.
I know I know.
It is cold.
When I was little we used to build a snowman with my grandfather. Nose out of carrot, the works.
Memories in the corners of my mind.
I like snow.
But it is closely related to the true terrors of winter.
Gloves for goodness sake.
Bloody hats - yeah if I didn't look like a midget until now, now I certainly will.
Scarfs, terror, jumpers, horror, thermo underwear, not that I have that, no-no all black lace and red silk naturally, but drama, tragedy, drama.
Like the absurdity of going somewhere important, and you are dressed to kill, and your makeup is flawless, grace-beauty and elegance lingers around you bla-bla bla. And you step into the warm room coming from the cold November streets of Budabloodypest and your nose starts running. Over the Christian Dior lipliner, over the right shade of lipstick. And you keep on smilimg but you know that you will have to blow your nose after the "very nice to meet you"
Or when you panic-stripp in front of the toilett. Three layers of clothing and minimal bladder-control left.
And sometimes the bus doesnt come for the longest time, or an icecicle almost kills you, and you either dress like a lady and break your neck or look like a tramp but be save.
I know I know.
23/11/2008
21/11/2008
Oh dear blog
Oh dear blog, there is nothing to say, is there?
Oh dear blog, writing for writings' sake does not always work.
Oh dear blog, does the cat have my thong?
Oh dear blog, will I be pretty, will I be rich?
Oh dear blog, can I keep up my cheerful spirit as autumn turns wet and cold?
Oh dear blog, why the festive lights?
Oh dear blog, send me for a walk.
Blog off.
I shall.
Thank You.
Oh dear blog, writing for writings' sake does not always work.
Oh dear blog, does the cat have my thong?
Oh dear blog, will I be pretty, will I be rich?
Oh dear blog, can I keep up my cheerful spirit as autumn turns wet and cold?
Oh dear blog, why the festive lights?
Oh dear blog, send me for a walk.
Blog off.
I shall.
Thank You.
Romeo and Juliet
In my hand there is and old book, from The New Penguin series.
It was printed in 1967 in Suffolk, Great Britain.
I bought it in 2001 in Black Pool for £1.
It was printed in 1967 in Suffolk, Great Britain.
I bought it in 2001 in Black Pool for £1.
Juliet and Juliet
What happens when you cut out everybody from Romeo and Juliet but Juliet?
Does she stand a chance on stage all by her self?
Does she tell a story alone or i she a mere component in a whole?
She falls in love.
She looses her virginity.
She is forced into a marriage.
She pretends to die to escape it.
Than she wakes too late and commits suicide next to her young loves corps.
Do her words tell this story?
What happens if she doubles?
I wonder.
I shall find out.
Does she stand a chance on stage all by her self?
Does she tell a story alone or i she a mere component in a whole?
She falls in love.
She looses her virginity.
She is forced into a marriage.
She pretends to die to escape it.
Than she wakes too late and commits suicide next to her young loves corps.
Do her words tell this story?
What happens if she doubles?
I wonder.
I shall find out.
20/11/2008
Art Fair 2008
Hajdu Kinga is the artist.
It is in Mucsarnok.
Images talk a 1000 words.
Say it with flowers.
Crossover.
Touch.
Touch.
It is in Mucsarnok.
Images talk a 1000 words.
Say it with flowers.
Crossover.
Touch.
Touch.
Touch.
19/11/2008
Ildiko the Talented
Here you are.Here it is.
Here you go.
There you must go for more.
http://ildikomezei.blogspot.com/
Contemporary. Hungarian.
We like.
Gift
I want to put here nice things.
For you.
I wish to please your eye.
To visually stimulate you.
It will be always theft naturally, I do not draw or take pictures.
Actually I do sometimes, but they might not please you.
They are not very nice.
That wouldn't stop some people, but it does stop me.
But stealing is ok. Cultural kleptomaniac.
P.J.
Nails burning in soundless sand.
Posters freezing in dark nights.
You left on the light in the hallway.
They are after my blood once again.
Your back is like a naked gravestone.
My, children, my children - do not judge.
Posters freezing in dark nights.
You left on the light in the hallway.
They are after my blood once again.
Your back is like a naked gravestone.
My, children, my children - do not judge.
Bloody Books
I have this task.
This thing to do.
A question to answer.
How would you get people to read more books? - the Polish executive creative director asked me.
Lovely task. Books are my bread and butter, my cup of tea, my things on my bookshelf.
Well, people would read more if:
You blow up their TV, PC and bin their mobile phones.
You teach them a little line called the alphabet and the magical uses of it.
You bully them by calling them an embarrassment in public places.
You lock them in a room and don't feed them until they read like a fox.
You pay them large sums of money and offer them sexual pleasures.
You make them believe that having a degree will get them somewhere in life and send them off to university, and let the academics take care of it.
You bribe your experts into coming up with a research saying that reading books prevents all mayor illness.
Threaten them with sharp objects and Chinese milk-products.
That was easy enough.
Bright future ahead of me I can see in advertisement.
This thing to do.
A question to answer.
How would you get people to read more books? - the Polish executive creative director asked me.
Lovely task. Books are my bread and butter, my cup of tea, my things on my bookshelf.
Well, people would read more if:
You blow up their TV, PC and bin their mobile phones.
You teach them a little line called the alphabet and the magical uses of it.
You bully them by calling them an embarrassment in public places.
You lock them in a room and don't feed them until they read like a fox.
You pay them large sums of money and offer them sexual pleasures.
You make them believe that having a degree will get them somewhere in life and send them off to university, and let the academics take care of it.
You bribe your experts into coming up with a research saying that reading books prevents all mayor illness.
Threaten them with sharp objects and Chinese milk-products.
That was easy enough.
Bright future ahead of me I can see in advertisement.
18/11/2008
Criminology
I buy any just about any DVD for 999.
Hungarian television has hit rock bottom.
So I watch Sherlock Holmes and Miss Marple.
I escape the televised Hungarian celebrity-culture. One simply must.
Last time I have turned it on.
A midget was balancing a 80's beauty queen on his tiny but muscular shoulders.
The porn star was whisking up a take-away gulyas in the kitchen, leaving her guests with the grueling task of making conversation while using cutlery all at the very same time.
And there was actual wood-paneling on the wall behind the pseudo-famous cretins.
Murder and crime seemed such an agreeable past-time after that, that I have promptly inserted Mr Holmes into my DVD player.
Hungarian television has hit rock bottom.
So I watch Sherlock Holmes and Miss Marple.
I escape the televised Hungarian celebrity-culture. One simply must.
Last time I have turned it on.
A midget was balancing a 80's beauty queen on his tiny but muscular shoulders.
The porn star was whisking up a take-away gulyas in the kitchen, leaving her guests with the grueling task of making conversation while using cutlery all at the very same time.
And there was actual wood-paneling on the wall behind the pseudo-famous cretins.
Murder and crime seemed such an agreeable past-time after that, that I have promptly inserted Mr Holmes into my DVD player.
Tuesday You Sweet
One gets to wake up and smell the coffee.
One has things to do, people to see, places to go to.
On the metro, undertown.
On the combino tram, sliding on Korut.
On the blue, blue buses of BKV.
I am visiting my suburban Mother today.
I will sit in the room that used to be mine.
That room with blue beds and Swedish curtains.
That room is still untouched.
As if waiting for my return.
But once you live in Pest you never go back.
One has things to do, people to see, places to go to.
On the metro, undertown.
On the combino tram, sliding on Korut.
On the blue, blue buses of BKV.
I am visiting my suburban Mother today.
I will sit in the room that used to be mine.
That room with blue beds and Swedish curtains.
That room is still untouched.
As if waiting for my return.
But once you live in Pest you never go back.
17/11/2008
Read Me.
I have been writing this for at least 36 minutes now.
Pushed the button.
Pushed the button.
Pushed the button.
I have. Yes. Yes.
Where are you people? Having wine with great friends? Snogging some fat academic on a documentary screening? Buying food, washing you hair, reading to your children?
That's just not good enough, is it?
No excuse, is there?
The only good-enough reason would be if you were attending my one-woman show in which I teach my Hungarian rabbit, Karoly, to eat his carrot like a gentleman.
Pushed the button.
Pushed the button.
Pushed the button.
I have. Yes. Yes.
Where are you people? Having wine with great friends? Snogging some fat academic on a documentary screening? Buying food, washing you hair, reading to your children?
That's just not good enough, is it?
No excuse, is there?
The only good-enough reason would be if you were attending my one-woman show in which I teach my Hungarian rabbit, Karoly, to eat his carrot like a gentleman.
No. 2
Oh, the infinite uses of a keyboard.
Oh, the wast infinity of the world wide web.
I have developed a healthy addiction to cyberspace.
My young spine is starting to bend forward.
I listen to the hardware hum.
I type into endless spaces, onto whole fields of virtual paper waiting to be marked by me.
Me.
Meeeeeeeeeeee.
Hear my gentle scream with your virtual ear.
I shall not cook today. Neither pasta nor rice.
I shall write this blog.
I shall not go out. It is getting cold. I am a room-person until April.
I shall write this blog.
I shall not do all those other things necessary to a wholesome life.
I shall write this blog.
I am aroused.
Oh, the wast infinity of the world wide web.
I have developed a healthy addiction to cyberspace.
My young spine is starting to bend forward.
I listen to the hardware hum.
I type into endless spaces, onto whole fields of virtual paper waiting to be marked by me.
Me.
Meeeeeeeeeeee.
Hear my gentle scream with your virtual ear.
I shall not cook today. Neither pasta nor rice.
I shall write this blog.
I shall not go out. It is getting cold. I am a room-person until April.
I shall write this blog.
I shall not do all those other things necessary to a wholesome life.
I shall write this blog.
I am aroused.
The Taste of Town
I always loved Buda.
I have learned to walk here.
My dear mother Anna gave birth to me at this very place.
12th district indeed.
A trying day that has been for both of us.
And I always enjoy a pie.
The End
I have learned to walk here.
My dear mother Anna gave birth to me at this very place.
12th district indeed.
A trying day that has been for both of us.
And I always enjoy a pie.
The End
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