...pentru ca unele lucruri e mai bine sa ramana nespuse...

Par fericit in pozele cu tine. Si te urasc pentru asta...

Chiar eram fericit in momentele acelea. Pe norisorii rozi, cu zambetul tamp pe chip, cu stelele care pareau ale dracu' aliniate, cu luminile semaforului care se faceau mereu verzi, cu autobuzul dupa care nu mai trebuia sa alerg, ca-l prindeam intotdeauana...

Totul parea usor, doar trecerea timpului nu. Minutele se scurgeau greu pana sa te vad iar si de multe ori nu stiam cand si daca am sa te mai vad vreodata. Traiam cu o permanenta spaima ca iar o sa apara un altul, o sa intervina ceva, o vizita inopinata, o schimbare de ultim moment. Pana la urma nu a trebuit sa fac niciun efort ca sa te pierd...

Si asta n-ar fi fost nimic. Am pierdut atatia oameni. Fata de unii din ei, tu nu poti fi considerata nici macar o cunostinta pasagera. Si totusi ai lasat urme. Pe unii din oamenii pierduti i-am dat uitarii fara niciun regret. As fi vrut sa nu te regret nici pe tine. Insa cel mai tare regret ca niciunul din voi nu mi-ati dat dreptul sa va spun adio asa cum ar fi trebuit. Povestile neterminate sunt cele mai nasoale pentru ca lasa deschisa posibilitatea ireala a unui final fericit...

Cel mai rau e cand ajungi sa te indoiesti nu doar de tine ci de gesturi si cuvinte. Cand ele isi pierd, brusc, orice inteles. Iar fara intelesul pe care il exprima cuvintele sunt lipsite de valoare, de sens. Devin doar o insiruire de litere, de zgomote goale. Rostite, nu mai produc niciun efect. Niciun gand. Nicio emotie. Pentru ca nu mai poti sa realizezi daca de data asta sunt sincere sau nu...

Tu ti-ai vazut in continuare de viata. Si m-ai ignorat cu stil, atata vreme cat nu ai avut nevoie de mine. Cum au facut multi altii inaintea ta si cum au facut, tot multi, si dupa ce n-ai mai fost. Ti-ai spus cuvintele de despartire, ti-ai scuipat furia, ti-ai varsat lacrimile si te-ai dus, libera si usoara, cu inima goala, gata sa fie umpluta de alte sentimente, pentru alte persoane sau pentru copii tai...

Iar eu inca ma trezesc din cand in cand gandidu-ma la tine. Cautand explicatii. Care nu exista. Si chiar daca ar exista nu ar rezolva nimic. Rasfoiesc aiurea albume in care noi doi am mers in diverse locuri, unde am mancat, am baut, am vorbit, am ras, ne-am tinut de mana, si alte lucruri din astea pe care le fac oamenii obisnuiti. Lucruri care ma enerveaza teribil acum. Lucruri pe care, desi-mi lipsesc, nu vreau sa le mai fac, pentru ca nu le mai fac cu tine. Lucruri care aveau valoare doar prin prisma faptului ca erai tu. Si tot gandindu-ma la lucrurile alea imi dau seama cat eram de fericit si cat eram de prost in acelasi timp. Si, ti-am zis, te urasc pentru asta!

Stiu, stiu, mi s-a spus, nu m-am vindecat daca inca mai trezesti in mine senzatii, fie ele si de furie. Cica nu-mi esti indiferenta. Ceea ce e, sincer, o prostie. Daca ai simtit vreodata ceva, pentru cineva, nu-ti vor fi niciodata complet 'indiferenti'. Dar nu asta e ideea. Te urasc pentru ca m-ai amagit, lasandu-ma sa cred ca fericirea e reala.

Si chiar de-as sterge de o mie de ori pozele 'doveditoare', nimeni nu poate sterge imaginea intiparita bine-n capul meu...

Live Forever

I don't want to die... And i don't want to get old. Being old it's a path of decay that leads to death. Old and death are related terms. They somehow generate each-other. If you are to live forever you can only be young forever...

I have a weak heart. "Lazy" seems to be the medical term. When i'm at rest, my heart beats are so low they are barely noticeable. One doctor told me it's probably because i picked up running, but i don't run nearly as much and as often that my heart would change habits (which is what happens with marathon runners). Other told me that since my heart is weak i should drop running because it might give me a heart attack. Or buy a heart rate monitor and watch its activity carefully. Basically, one of the few physical activities that i do and that make me feel good could kill me.

Isn't that the case with everything that makes you happy?

In London, whenever the sun makes an appearance i go running in a park-forest nearby my place. To get there i need to pass through a street in between the cemetery and the crematory. The "famous" Golder's Green crematory. It's quiet and safe, though the silence and landscape are creepy. I usually make my best time per km when i go towards the park (and coming back) even though i am running up hill. I am not comfortable in the presence of death reminding tokens. Holes that swallow rotting corpses on one side, holes throwing fire that turn one body into a fist of ashes on the other... Yesterday i even saw a mortuary car taking a body to be cremated. A few people went in with the deceased. The majority of the old people who attended the service was discussing in front of the church, a bit further away. It was like they have just witnessed a social event. It seemed routine to them. A thing you just do... Made me think a lot...

To be so accustomed and used to death to not actually notice its presence...

I wondered how many people would come if i died and i realized that most likely none: when there are no people celebrating your birthday there is a very small chance that anyone will notice you're gone.

If you were not worth of company when you were alive, you're not worth of company when you're dead either...

If you left no mark on anyone's life or viceversa, there is no one to remember you... I think it's one of the main reasons people start up families and, especially, have kids. You will leave a mark at least on someone's life, enough to ensure that they will remember you.

From this perspective being alone means you're already dead. On the street you're a face that no one notices. Just another member of the crowd. In the grave or in the urn, you're just a name among other names. Lost in the large quantity of no-more's.

It's sad. And wrong. That's why i don't wanna die. I can't die. There are still so many things to do, discover, accomplish. So many things i need to see, people i haven't yet met, a life a haven't yet built. If i die, there is really no point in anything. Absolutely none.

If life has a sense or a meaning, if there is a God, i will live forever...

Scrisori care nu se vor trimite niciodata ...

Dumnezeule, cat erai de frumoasa!

De multe ori simteam nevoia sa te ating doar ca sa inlatur senzatia crunta ca nu esti decat o plasmuire a imaginatiei mele.  

Niciodata reflexia mea nu a aratat mai curata ca atunci cand o  vedeam in ochii tai. Amintirea privirii tale ma izbeste si-acum, din cand in cand, facandu-ma sa-mi pierd directia pe strada, sau somnul atunci cand am mai multa nevoie de el.

Nu-mi mai amintesc vorbele tale. Din gesturi n-au ramas decat cateva. Ai murit de mult pentru mine, iar eu n-am fost niciodata viu in ceea ce te privea. Am bifat probabil toate casutele din nevoile tale, toate, mai putin pe aceea in care imaginea mea trebuia sa se suprapuna cu cea creata de jocul mintii tale. Vesnica ironie a sortii...

Te iubeam sincer si atat de dureros incat dupa aceea mi-am dorit sa nu mai iubesc vreodata. Tu nu ma iubeai pe mine si asta trebuie sa fi fost durerea ta. Poate ai vrut si n-ai putut sau poate n-ai vrut suficient, cine stie, nu mai are nicio importanta oricum.

Din tine n-au ramas decat urme din ceea ce era doar o iluzie, o scamatorie cu oglinzi. Eu iubeam in mod evident ceea ce credeam ca esti, ceea ce vedeam filtrat, iar nu ceea ce era intr-adevar acolo. Intr-un fel iubeam ideea de a iubi. Intr-un fel ma iubeam pe mine. Era o noutate si asta si poate si de aceea era atat de bine...

Multi mi-au reprosat faptul ca te-am pastrat prea mult in gand chiar si dupa ce ai plecat. Realitatea e ca ti-am dat drumul foarte rapid. Nu m-am indurat insa sa ma despart de mine, de acea versiune imbunatatita a mea, care era vie. N-am pastrat nostalgia inca unei relatii ratate, ci pe aceea a unui eu diferit de eul meu obisnuit. Nu pe tine te-am regretat. Ci pe mine. In timp s-a dus si asta...

Da, erai extraordinar de frumoasa. Si stiai sa te joci. Eu n-am stiut sa ma joc niciodata. Iar dragostea e ca jucariile copilariei: te bucuri, descoperi, demontezi, inlocuiesti. De copil insa nu m-am putut desprinde de teama ca o jucarie mult dorita e de neinlocuit. Ca atare le-am pazit si protejat pe ale mele, pastrandu-le in cutiile originale, admirandu-le si curatandu-le de praf, folosindu-le cu grija sa nu pateasca ceva,  pana cand un alt copil, o prezenta pasagera, a stiut cum sa profite la maxim de distrugerea lor exuberanta. Iar femeile nu sunt altceva decat jucarii ce se vor demontate, scormonite, distruse fara mila si nesatioasa curiozitate. 

Cuvintele nu mai au sens acum, nu ma credeai cand erai, nu ma vei crede cand nu mai esti si cu atat mai putin cand nu mai sunt. Intr-o zi, pana si amintirea - deja palida - a momentului cand m-ai luat de mana se va sterge. La fel cum s-a sters zambetul tau. Intr-o zi, lumina albastra ce palpaia in ochii tai, va deveni tot una cu intunericul asternut in mine.

nonexistence...

late. when everyone else is sleeping, i listen to bits of classical music. so beautiful they make me wanna sleep. forever.

everything is a screen. reacting to a touch or a bump. these people button, button, button a glass or plastic cover. on the crosswalk. on the street. at coffee. at lunch. in metros. at work. probably in bed too. illusion of communication.

i never existed. nor will i. am a blind spot against the light. sometimes i can see my shadow. but most don't even get a glimpse of me. i am not anonymous. i simply am not.

what is the screen if not the reminder that you are not where you want or should be? that you are not. there. screens are not communication. screens are painful absence. screens are insurmountable distances.

i am bunch of letters in an agenda. some lines in a virtual memory of a phone. an empty shape in a photo. i am not even the proof of a memory.

screens are what separates us from others and the world. u button, hence u don't talk. u keep distance, hence u don't approach, u reinvent yourself virtually, hence you change nothing in reality, u don't see anymore, hence u capture and post. so that no one sees. screens are not communication, but the very lack of it. they don't connect but keep as separate. even when together.

u know u don't exist when there is no reply back. to ur hello, to ur goodbye, to ur questions or ur wishes. screeners don't bother answering to a ghost.

emoticons are not smiles. badges and stickers are not lips. nor hands. videos are not presence. we claim to be surpassing miles. in reality we simply get used to them. one can't make love thru texts and iMessages.

screens affected our sense of reality. modified it completely. they even changed the meanings of words. zounds of friends we don't know or care about define our 'social' status. we are active on 'social networks' without moving away from the screen. we take the screen with us to any gathering and can't enjoy the time without checking in. screen is our best pal. most likely the only one too.

i am the ghost of my desires and wishes. the scrap nobody wanted or needed. the spare parts i didn't know what to do with. waste. trash. i am the silence behind the many words. "i speak...to hear...my voice". i tell everyone cause i cannot tell anyone. the sound of my written words falls blind and mute, as the many don't care about what i have to say, and the few are too far away to hear it. too far away. in time, in space.

all the social networks did was to alienate us from each other. screens took over. screen zombies everywhere. not paying attention. divided. alone in their own world. unaware of the others. non existent.

i don't exist. and though the only one to realize it, i am also the only one having troubles accepting it. let go, let go, let go... I did with (almost) everything else. All i have left is to let go of myself. u can't really die when u don't exist, anyway...

(Another week in London)

I read once an article about the coupling terror over single people. It was inferred that being single was not a disease but a mere choice or simply impossibility of being or finding the right person to be with. Definitely it was not contagious and no reason to throw a stigmata over those who find themselves in such a social state. But then there's the family terror as well. It's not only that you're alone. It's that you will never have kids, never have responsibilities and worries as an adult. You live only your selfish, quiet, little life. And as you refuse or you are unable to join the social matrix, there must be definitely something wrong with you.

You're a human failure... And hence, you are treated like one. You become invisible.

The truth is in your social life you are treated like in your financial one: richer get richer and poorer get poorer. Those socially involved will find more and more similar people to themselves, while singles...well, they'll just stay single. Parents gather to parks and kindergartens and schools and hospitals and thus share a common ground for worrying, for being proud or for discussion. A single person at some parents convention could only look suspicious: a pedophile, a mad person or kidnapper... That's how it works.

Once you're out, you're out. Freedom is a terrible Greek gift.

The worst part is that you end up like that Matrix character who was willing to betray and sell his peers and his freedom just to be "happy", back in the illusion created by the Matrix. You really feel like there is something wrong with you. That it is impossible not to like having a mortgage, indulge a fat, annoying wife,  a stinking, impotent husband, raising some dumb-cunt whining kid, and share the general feeling of all no-gooders on this planet, sighing with self satisfaction while looking at their offspring: "At least i've done something in this life".

What an accomplishment...

We exist through the others, and that's a sad truth i keep repeating. Only others give us meaning, which is both false and fucked up, cause it is only us who know our true worth. Our true value. Christ - aware of being God's son and having it confirmed publicly by God Himself - was asking his apostles: "Who do people say i am?". He knew perfectly that though he was "the Truth, the Path, the Life" themselves, unless people came to acknowledge and accept that, any deed or self sacrifice would have been in vain. He had to become a miracle making man, a trickster, a propagandist and an agitator, a martyr to get the right result. We all live His life in this respect. We pretend, everyday. Unless others accept as as worthy, smart, beautiful, lovable, or whatever other quality we might possess, we are nothing. Unless others acknowledge our existence, we are not even alive...

Can't shake this feeling in London's underground.

I feel people bumping into me, like a cockroach nest it is, and still i doubt my own existence. In this week, the only human contact i had was with the librarian. I follow a strictly and daily routine, that leaves out exactly the three things i need most, to remember i'm alive. I cut off all sources of feelings to avoid pain, but i've stopped those causing pleasure as well. I know it cause i couldn't stop my brain from working. It didn't work otherwise. And while i stare at these people staring into their screens (phones, tablets, computers, e-readers) i wonder if any of them sees me. And if they do, what do they really see?

For sure they are not seeing what i see. Can't tell if that is good or bad.

Been thinking lately a lot to the fact that once close to the end - the death, the sacrifice, the redemption of all sins, which was the whole purpose if His coming anyway - Christ asked God to deliver Him from what was to happen. To deliver Him from: betrayal, loneliness, suffering and death. He knew why, He knew it's temporary (after all he did tell the apostles He will be resurrected) and yet, starring in the face of death He wanted out. Why? The answer to this question scares the Hell out of me...

Gods fear death too... Especially Gods!

 I've reached 33. As I like to say,  many, including the son of God, were done with their missions and lives by the time they've reached it. The only change i sense is in the mirror. And in myself: I know i'm older because I feel more and more dead inside. Because instead of settling with myself, i grow more and more restless, doubtful, lonelier. Because i keep asking questions i don't know the answer to. And it doesn't seem i will ever know it. Doubt is the only certainty.

If there's a point to my life i've most definitely missed it. Hope i'll get the joke at least.

Pictures (2)

In between the grey concrete buildings, on the asphalt road, among parked cars, a poor chariot, pulled by a skinny, tired, slow pace horse. In front, handling the whip sits a young Gipsy man, who shouts at equal intervals:

- C'mon 'n get watermelons, watermelons!

His son, not older than ten and looking not more than 5 echoes his voice immediately:

- Melons, ons!

I haven't seen them selling any and yet they return every day. Every time i hear this picture of Sisific poverty my eyes go into tears...

I ran after the bus because it was an express taking me directly to the metro station. Saves me 5 minutes in comparison to other buses, and the trouble of going on foot through the sub-passage. Once up, looking around me, i notice a girl hugging a white, big dog that wears a red t-shirt and a metal handle. She's blind...

Blind. Carrying a backpack and a white stick in her hand. Smiles and whispers her love to the dog, who takes it and returns it in its own way, licking her hands. Warmly. 

This picture is a knife to my heart. The girl is, like most Hungarian women, incredibly beautiful. But she will never know it. She won't ever sit in front of a mirror witnessing her pretty face, checking it for flaws. She will never see those complementing her. She'll have to take their word for it. She won't ever see the beautiful blue sky or the gold color of this sunmer sun. She will only feel it, thus being more aware of their presence than most of us. Her life is pure perception, a permanent touch and constant trust - in both humans and animals - a life that we, those who see, are unable to live. Paradoxically, though better fitted and equiped, we live less and we're more scared. More estranged. More alone.

All these pictures in my head... The illusion of imortality of a passed moment, of something already dead and gone. Camera altered memories. A fake smile, a fake kiss, a fake pose. Amer-indians were afraid that when pictured their soul was stolen. But they couldn't be more further than the truth. The picture stole nothing. It was empty. Meaningless. Not even a shadow, but a contour. 

That old man looking through garbage for food, sipping the lost drops of a Starbuck's coffe cup. In that image i followed her when she ran after him to give him some money for a meal. She returned crying the blue ocean drops that were her eyes. She saught cover in my arms, unable to really hid her from the horror of this world. I loved her then more than ever, not for her gesture but for her immense empathy, for her huge embracing heart. Who's able to cry for others nowadays?...

Our cameras are now only turned towards ourselves...

Ogre(s)

Am i a bad person for not giving a damn about what goes on in Syria, Irak or Afghanistan? That the war of the ogres for crude oil and geopolitical interests doesn't interest me in any way? They should all kill each-other for all i care... It's all a cheap television show anyway.

On our money. Slimy know-nothing ogres live and make decisions on our money and on our behalf. They feed us hopes for several months every four years and then they reduce us to what we truly are: their food.

Fascisms are the ogres who still chew on Christianity. Because its representative, the Church, allowed them to. White supremacists burn crosses, others wear it on their armbands or on their flags, killing in the name of. All in the name of a God who for two thousand years now keeps Its distance from all this madness. 

The ogre humanity hasn't seen a God for 2 millenniums but sacrifices are still made in its name. Killers and lunatics still think they act in its name. I bet the ogres who do the cross sign near every church, without having ever read the Bible would be the first to nail Christ back on His cross if He would dare to return... 

The world belongs to the ogres now... There is a high chance that out of the blue a drunken ogre will punch you hard in the ear in a pub just because he'a looking for a fight, that a fundamentalist ogre will blow up the metro, the train or the plane you're traveling in just because there aren't enough virgins on this planet to satisfy his need for blood on his cock, that some idiot ogre will break your head or hit you with a chain or a knife because you have the wrong color, the wrong ethnicity, the wrong origin or you support the  wrong team...

Ogres, ogres everywhere... Forever unsatisfied, looking for more food, more money, more women, more houses, more, more, more for the ogre hunger within...

Keep your children away from the educational political or financial ogres. Keep them away from their own ogreish desires. Better keep your children inside you or simply flush them down the drain in a rubber container. Otherwise their gonna turn up ogres too...

I myself am an ogre feeding on his own thoughts. Or maybe my mind is the ogre devouring me. Or maybe my sexual desires are the ogre of this unsatisfied body. There is no escape from the ruthless teeth of the biggest ogre of all: life itself.

Past Lives

I see myself dressed up in armor. My metal hands are covered in blood. Mine and my enemies'. The sword in my hand is dripping the liquid of life and the sweat that finds it's way through the iron jacket. I can hear myself screaming. While i tremble from adrenaline shots given bu death i find comfort in the bodies of those dead, at my feet. As i raise my hand in victor i wonder: is this another mind trick of my rich fantasy or a vivid memory of a past life? Is this a dream, a desire or a memory?

Sexuality became violence. I can only find arousal in brutality of physical love. I only wanted harder, longer. Tenderness is a vague memory of conquest or a result of post coital victory. But the battle is now just battle. Been deprived too long. It's time to take what is rightfully mine. Even if that means by force. 

I was told that most likely in a past life i was Jack the Ripper: a rapist and a murderer of women. But Jack the Ripper was no rapist. He was a failed rapist. He was using knives instead of a penetrating penis. God knows what was in his tormented mind and sadistic soul. Rapists and murderers steal pleasure. I got a different type of sin. I want to give it by all means. Which makes me believe that i was indeed Jack the Ripper in a past life.

I am sure i used to wear caligulae and a body armor that we now call lorica segmentata. In front of several pictures of gladius-es i've immediately recognized one and wanted to buy it. 3 years later i still do. Battle ready. Fully sharpened. On my wish list is learning to use a sword and a bow with arrows. I was a soldier in many lives before. Roman, Crusader, musketeer. Or my mind has been totally altered by books, movies and video-games. Either way, i am living more lives than one. And still doesn't seem enough. 

Not being able to identify your true self, your true nature. Not being able to settle and find peace. Isn't that a clear sign of reincarnation, of an uncompleted search? ...

Egypt, Carthage, Jerusalem, Seville and Cordoba. I am drawn to these places, i see them in my dreams. As if i am to re-trace a former path that i've been already walking on, many, many times before. I wonder if once i got there - cause i hope to get there - i will be able to recognize the ruins, the shadows, the missing streets. Will i be able to go to the old hose where once i knew the peace and kindness that i'm looking for...

If only the waters would speak... They wittiness it all. They could tell us how the past really was. They could reflect us into our future.

In time the World became smaller and, contrary to initial expectations, Humanity became smaller as well. Insignificant even. That's what you get when you remove Gods from your lives and you take Earth out of the center of the Universe... Humanity is now drifting in its own lack of purpose and meaning. Living in constant denial so that it won't commit a mass suicide.

I see myself standing on a mountain of corpses. Victorious. With a bloody sword in my hand. Me, so afraid of physical confrontations, triumphant in a major battle of the past. Definitely a wishful thinking. Inventing a personal mythology that would serve as an excuse for a disappointing present. A compensation for the fact that i don't matter. That i'm anonymous. And i'll always be...

Seeking a Friend for the End of the World

It is unrealistic to think that a woman who's special, and knows she's special, would stick to a single man, at any point in time. In reality one should be happy for meeting such a woman and enjoy her presence and attention for as much as it lasts. Without any regrets when she moves on. Cause at some point and for a while she chose you. Such man has not lived in vain.

One day... one day you shall meet a skinny girl, with light in her eyes and a beautiful mind, and she will smile at you and she will provide you shelter in her heart and company in the mutiny around you. It must happen. You have to believe in this otherwise it's all pointless. That's why we keep on searching for a friend for the end of the world.

Unless you've already met her and point 2 gets replaced by point 1. Thus, you have only the option to be happy from now on.

The metaphor of the world which is about to end is meant to literally strip us of all the useless, comforting things and choices that actually preclude us from living the lives we want, the lives we deserve. Boring jobs, people we don't really like (anymore), being cautious and constantly scared. Settling in complacency. Getting used with a lie. Until it's too late.

The main idea is to get what you need till the end. To die happy, fulfilled, preferably not alone. Doesn't matter (that much) if it was for a few minutes, days, months or years. Of course, the ideal case is to be happy for as long as possible. But the right question is indeed: "is it ever enough?". Rhetorical. Especially if you think about those who never got to feel it.

Another idea is to stop at some point. To call off the search. Cause life stops too, the end of the world, our own world, could come any moment now. There's no need for a universal cataclysm to understand that from your perspective, when you die, the whole world dies with you. Thus at some point in time you need to do it: Try to enjoy what is given, and if more is coming your way, then ok, but if not, then ok as well. Life just happens and you can't just waste all the time you have chasing ghosts...

Scattered thoughts

Love doesn't have to be shared to be eternal...

I have never understood why some women picked me. Never. Even now it is a great wonder. Experience didn't make me wiser and didn't bring any answer to old questions. It just made me realize i should stop asking them...

There are moments when i truly think there is no real feeling left inside of me. That i've drained them all. That's why i hang on memories. That's why i write all these stories...

Reality is better than fantasy i wrote once to someone. A bit later she screamed at me in anger that i was a liar. Knowing how much i've hurt her i've been immediately put to the ground, burdened by guilt and remorse. But i still couldn't feel as a liar. Cause i've been lingering in fantasy my whole life, but i've never been as happy as when it was all real...

Some kids were knocking on doors asking for "something". When i got out of my house, one of them asked me too. I've pretended i didn't understand, then taking advantage of the fact that my neighbor  answered his door i left. I still can't say what kind of stingy feeling stopped me from giving them "something". Especially as i had plenty. Couldn't look into my own eyes ever since...

I fear dying. I fear the mere thought of not being. Still have so many things to do. Still have to find my way, my place, my self...

The doctor said i have a calm heart. That's what his machine said. A series of abrupt waves drawn with ink by a mechanical needle contradict my life-long knowledge that i have a restless heart. While he explained to me that it might be because i am running, and even a reason for being able to run so much, he implies that it would be better if i would check in for a 24 hours survey on my heart rate. Just in case he says... I might die in my sleep, i add...

Wow, you're quite smart they say. And that's not flattering. Because soon after such statement they get scared, they get bored and they leave. They always leave....

I sometimes get a glimpse of what my life could be. Usually long enough to decide that i would like it, that i would be happy. Then, when the wormhole closes back, it's only that voice saying: well, that ain't gonna happen...

A Walk to Remember

For two years in Budapest i haven't been up on Gellert Hill. That day I've decided to go by myself. I was totally abandoned and felt as lonely as that high hill under my steps. While going up i was breathing the city in, seeing from above all those places that i loved, that i didn't wanna leave. Budapest is like a beautiful Hungarian woman you keep on discovering. Danube, her deep blue eyes...

Under the sunset, only my shadow accompanied me back home.

It was a mid autumn day. Cloudy but averagely warm. Pleasant for a walk. She was talking in a funny accent. I was just lost in her smile. Those German style buildings looked like the walls of a raveled maze, leading our steps to an unknown destination. Could have been a trap. But then she grabbed my hand. And in a world of questions and doubts, i was literally holding THE answer...

Window-shopping happiness.

Under the black sky and seen from above Budapest is a fairy. Its lit bridges are a celebration of union. We had a nice dinner up there. And we were smiling though we were both counting days and minutes till i was to be gone. The boy seemed to be resting quietly in my arms. For a while. Then he asked for his mother. While going down the hill i watched her walking proud and confident. Happy. I guess it's true what they say about motherhood. Then we got lost and tired. Took her favorite bridge and the tram home. A short glimpse in the world of what i would like my life to be. While crossing Westend passage i saw the moon over my building. I begged her to stay like that forever. She just smiled and kept going with her own walk...

Graffiti

The only trace of me on somebody's wall says: para para paradise. Could i have asked for more?...

On the desk i was using during the lectures in my university it was written: here we fought heavily against sleep but we were severely defeated. Not being born to be a hero i've stopped attending lectures from the third year...

A graffiti in Bucharest says: 'Look at the sky'. My best friend thinks it's the best wall message that one could possibly read. I guess he gets a bit nostalgic when he looks at the stars as well...

On a bench on Thames's river bank there is a plate with this text: 'everybody needs a place to think!' I haven't seen anyone sitting there...

In Timisoara, in different parts of the city someone wrote on houses walls: 'dear x, it's y, we met in z's pub. I'm in love with you and i can't find you. If you see this desperate message, please tell me how. I'll check everyday'.
There are answers underneath. Can't tell you if they're fake. But i find his attempt funny, honest and romantic. I really hope he succeeded...

I've heard that on a wall in Cairo it is written: Napoleon was here! Apparently beneath stays the answer: No, I wasn't!

In Paris there is a Wall of Love where 'i love you' is written in every language on the planet. A girl sent me a picture of her and that wall a long time ago. It was a nice gesture. Too bad she, like many others, wasn't even able to prove it in her native one...

There was a time when i would have engraved her name on the wall of my skin. A perpetual memory like in Memento. Luckily the end of that movie proved to me that even perpetual memories can be misleading so i've dropped the idea...

Presumably the walls of ancient Rome were filled with graffiti and funny drawings. The graffiti were usual gossips, news or simply cursings addressed to those in power. The cartoons tried to depict the graffiti's message. Protest or resistance or an exercise of humbleness. Who knows? But all Latin historians mention the usage of such popular techniques of sending a message. Rome probably fell when repainted walls remained white...

Sex Time Loneliness

Soon after she came back to Budapest a friend told me she signed up for all sorts of classes and activities. Told her i wasn't aware she has so many hobbies. She told me she doesn't. I just want to keep my self as busy as possible. But why? To forget that i am alone...

They say no one will love you if you don't love yourself. But actually it's the other way around...

A joke said that in case the penis head is cut off nothing will happen to the man to whom the penis belongs because the other head will immediately take over. The main idea of the joke is that actually, once in a while, the little head needs to take over so that the upper head gets some rest. That loss of control, the endorphines released in the brain represent the vacation of the mind factory... No wonder some are so tired lately...

There is a rythm in everything and all must be done in its right time. Once the time has passed there is no point in doing it anymore. It won't matter anymore. It won't cause the same effects. The rightous effects. One does not need to be a lawyer to understand prescription...

I enjoy reading Cioran (especially) or any other author who's thoughts resemble mine. They don't necessarily make me feel better but less lonely.

Sex is a game, my friend, a game. Go out and play. With whom? Don't you need a playmate to make it fun?

Reading to remember? No, reading to forget.

She told him she doesn't like talking about it. That she likes to experience stuff and he should just do what he feels like doing. Imagine his surprise when she started screaming and cursing the moment he stuck slowly a finger in her ass...

I've seen somewhere an old guy saying that in our heads we are all 19 year old. I don't know about that specific age but i believe him to be right about the rest...

I've read that up until he was almost 50, Kant was a virgin. He lived in a small village and had the same daily routine everyday, which included a walk through the village and lots of writing. He never leaved the village and still was able to build a philosophic system of universal proportions. At some point his friends insisted that he visits a brothel and he accepted solely because it was a life experience he lacked and he thought it might help him with his ideas. The experience was obviously short. When he came out he was asked: how was it? He said: the thing itself is rather pleasant. But the movements are preposterous...

Today on LinkedIn a title said: is working a form of procrastination? I guess we all know the answer to this question...