tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-77257399820466054922009-12-25T09:44:26.348ZBudapitehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12906017256965900581noreply@blogger.comBlogger74125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7725739982046605492.post-56803655971250539112009-04-20T14:08:00.002+01:002009-04-20T14:15:29.364+01:00

It is all red on the top, fire and tabacco, it is all white and slim in the middle and at the tip of it, there are my red lips, huggig the brown paper wrapping around the plastick, and there is thin grey smoke sliding in my loung and out. In and out. In and out. All about the cigarett. Lighters in the pocket. Lighters in the bag. Ashtray on the table. I am smoking again. It is terrible and

Budapitehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12906017256965900581noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7725739982046605492.post-7146450240982439532009-04-20T13:59:00.002+01:002009-04-20T14:08:34.417+01:00

In april nevertheles. My blood is heavy but circulates faster. My hair is really messy. I am going to see my own show today again. It is a fasciating thing, theatre is - you sit with many people in the same room and the lights are all pretty and everyting that happens on stage you know, most of it you created and everybody is looking at that for a whole hour. Nobody talks. Nobody is on the phone.

Budapitehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12906017256965900581noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7725739982046605492.post-40461090987012379672009-04-12T20:06:00.002+01:002009-04-12T20:20:19.129+01:00

..comes anxiety and takes you by the throat and your skin turns grey. An elegant shade of grey that serves as a backdrop to your moth that mumbels, your blue eyes that loose focus and it gives a place of origin to those sounds, like:I am sorry.Don't keep telling that to your self. Lets eat something. I am smoking again. I am fat like never before and I am back at the awful habbit of putting

Budapitehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12906017256965900581noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7725739982046605492.post-60159380077382086872009-01-31T23:39:00.002Z2009-01-31T23:44:34.947Z

You know, I have this life. I don't always sit in front of my computer in the dark of night. So I have a job and that makes me do things. I go to school and I have to take exams. I am an amazing student. I am. Bright as the sun - my mother would tell you. And I am working on a performance. Things happen all the time. For instance there is this woman, with the curious name who keeps on calling me

Budapitehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12906017256965900581noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7725739982046605492.post-19019792875052075422009-01-31T23:33:00.002Z2009-01-31T23:39:50.063Z

I keep on thinking of my blog as if it was a tamagochi or a bonsai. I have irrational anxieties about it. I feel this rootless senseless fear, that it will die:Because I don't feed it. Because don't water it. The blog will die. Budapie will be no more. And after it dies it will be sad. Like standing in an empty room where many were waiting for you, but you just couldnt go, and than you are alone.

Budapitehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12906017256965900581noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7725739982046605492.post-89050649844403563562009-01-26T19:04:00.002Z2009-01-26T19:08:05.452Z

So I have decided to name my unborn child if she will be a girl: Ganada.To call her Grana. Or Ada. Or Nada.So this fire burns every time her name is spoken. So even her signature will resonate duende. But nobody likes it.I am not pregnant.This issue is not urgent.

Budapitehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12906017256965900581noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7725739982046605492.post-22861631465071672332009-01-12T08:27:00.002Z2009-01-12T08:30:32.447Z

There is an endless list of what goes on in my domesticity.I cook in my kitchen.I direct in my living room.I write in the study.And in the bedroom....In the bedroom...In the bedroom...Love sleeps on the pillows.Love wakes in the morning.Life rests at night.

Budapitehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12906017256965900581noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7725739982046605492.post-17815981400758489452009-01-06T00:21:00.003Z2009-01-06T00:28:47.078Z

The tragedy is when everything is sick: from God to the last pebble everything is wrong somehow.In tragedies people do things and than they die.Tragedy is a sort of dramatic form with misfortune or bad deeds at the center. A real life tragedy is however that I have have no milk for coffee tomorrow.I will wake and I will despise my empty and cold fridge.The day will not start. It will benign

Budapitehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12906017256965900581noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7725739982046605492.post-32451268599252419312009-01-05T10:54:00.002Z2009-01-05T10:58:01.696Z

"Freedom is when you can consume countless chocolate pretzels in the dark of night in your bed.Another manifestation of freedom is when they don't shoot you ten times when you speak up.Some freedoms we have, others we don't."

Budapitehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12906017256965900581noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7725739982046605492.post-92092396282630909932009-01-05T10:50:00.002Z2009-01-05T10:54:21.696Z

In such a weird place wright now.I breathe all funny.My biorhythm is like a jazz-piece.My social life is carrot-like.I don't eat sugar.I am manufacturing great creative plans.I am starting a new carrier.I am having exams at university.I am temporarily broke.I am addicted to the internet.I am addicted to the internet.I am addicted to the internet.And I breath all funny.What is all this about?

Budapitehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12906017256965900581noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7725739982046605492.post-1236919117761191352009-01-05T10:47:00.001Z2009-01-05T10:50:27.250Z

I should - take a shower- wash my hair - brush my teeth- dress up - make a sandwich- eat it -leave the comfort of my flat-distance myself from the keyboard - face the worldI should.

Budapitehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12906017256965900581noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7725739982046605492.post-46750087156767535802009-01-01T14:38:00.002Z2009-01-01T14:41:50.907Z

And the morning after thin virgin snow fell on the empty streets.And they were all sleeping.And they woke and they didn't want to wake.Ant they moved the time forward and set their numbers back.And they feasted on leftovers.And they listened to Kossuth Radio.

Budapitehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12906017256965900581noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7725739982046605492.post-86046859312914401492008-12-28T00:22:00.002Z2008-12-28T00:26:25.297Z

Time to show you something comfortably disturbing again.Something terribly beautiful.For much more visist: www.raycaesar.com

Budapitehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12906017256965900581noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7725739982046605492.post-54904149696976010892008-12-28T00:18:00.001Z2008-12-28T00:20:54.145Z

I eat everything that gets in my way, so be careful:Do not smell good or look appetizing when I am near.You will be wise to do so.

Budapitehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12906017256965900581noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7725739982046605492.post-25114494901891003932008-12-28T00:09:00.002Z2008-12-28T00:18:38.483Z

It is the 28th of December today and I welcome the fact that tomorrow morning I will be able to trot down to Mr and Mr Vegetable man and buy some peppers or tomatoes or whatever I please.My corner shop, my corner shop, my beautiful corner shop. Mea maxima culpa, I know, because the baby Jesus and all that, but honestly, when I tuned on the TV and Miklos Fenyo was doing a Christmas Special

Budapitehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12906017256965900581noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7725739982046605492.post-15244009680083966192008-12-25T09:47:00.002Z2008-12-25T10:02:28.005Z

Samuel Beckett sat down every December and has given the detailed account of all twelve months of the year gone. This precise documentation has helped him to summarize and analyze the events and move on to a new exiting chapter.I sit down every December and eat. Fried meat, fried mushrooms and fried potatoes. I munch - even though I hate the bloody word - on gherkins. Pickles. They are the

Budapitehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12906017256965900581noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7725739982046605492.post-46030848125003049372008-12-22T09:38:00.003Z2008-12-22T09:54:34.552Z

The drunk I am only drinks Martini Bianco.The drunk I am barely drinks, therefor the thirst of my inner-drunk is great.Once my inner drunk gets to drink some Martini Bianco she does not hesitate to down the glass like a peasant. The drunk I am does not enjoy the taste of alcohol it just wants to get smashed.Not tipsy, piss on that. Smashed. Wasted.It never happens. when is was a teenager I would

Budapitehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12906017256965900581noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7725739982046605492.post-45045658851412367782008-12-20T15:47:00.004Z2008-12-20T16:01:22.179Z

Burn the Bejgli is what comes before the Smack my Bitch Up in December.Bejgli is a must eat item, as displayed on the Hungarian Christmas table by our mothers.You consume it 67 bites after the first urge to throw up in the festive season.And you like it.You like it more when it is filled with poppy-seeds.You like it less when it has fucking raisins in it.Because we hate fucking raisins.Idiots'

Budapitehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12906017256965900581noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7725739982046605492.post-32504981702208711782008-12-20T15:38:00.000Z2008-12-20T15:39:21.004Z

http://ajourneyroundmyskull.blogspot.comI was reading this blog for example and I liked it very much.

Budapitehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12906017256965900581noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7725739982046605492.post-13131595604754786312008-12-20T15:36:00.000Z2008-12-20T15:38:18.532Z

Today we got a tree.It is small.It is green.It will be our Christmas tree.

Budapitehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12906017256965900581noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7725739982046605492.post-67968017934316192362008-12-16T08:21:00.004Z2008-12-16T08:34:18.759Z

One of my lifestyle fantasies is to be a restaurant critique.So my job description would read: to be wined and dined, to be served and smiled at, to be fed 3-5 courses of meals, never having to pay.But than I also think, that I am capable of so much more than deciding if the spoon was clean and the salmon was pink enough.And than to actually write about food.It is like talking about sex.Like

Budapitehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12906017256965900581noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7725739982046605492.post-13547133857371317472008-12-16T08:15:00.002Z2008-12-16T08:21:06.445Z

Ok, so I have been overdoing the pictures bit.Have some letters, please enjoy the words, dwell on the sentences.Am I writing about nothing again?Saying nothing?Shut up my inner critique, and let me play on my virtual playground.Exciting times dear Blog, new jobs, lots to write, it is all about Shakespeare, marketing, theatre history, media, and I just do not know where to benign.So I start by

Budapitehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12906017256965900581noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7725739982046605492.post-32099170007543997892008-12-14T20:09:00.003Z2008-12-14T20:12:27.342Z

This was where I took my very first steps.Come and walk there with the old Danube to your left and right?Are you in Buda?Are you in Pest?The sun.The sun.The sun.

Budapitehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12906017256965900581noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7725739982046605492.post-45077957003719535082008-12-14T20:07:00.000Z2008-12-14T20:08:44.366Z

Budapitehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12906017256965900581noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7725739982046605492.post-79714509734753532522008-12-14T20:05:00.002Z2008-12-14T20:07:28.547Z

Budapitehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12906017256965900581noreply@blogger.com0