More rough poetry

Cold air is a raspberry.
Pinpoint sweet,
A polished walnut dresser
From Vienna.
I call for God (again).

Please make it rain HARD,
Blast the concrete clean
Gleaming perfect explosions.
Gleaming, perfect, big kabooms.
I curse God (again).

Fuck me, kill me or kill them all,
Blast the concrete clean
Pinpoint sweet, a gleaming perfect gun
From the United States.
I beg God (again).

Just simple things, please
Cold air to ease the heat,
A raspberry, pinpoint sweet,
A pastry from Vienna,
Clean sidewalks, gleaming perfect.
I do not need no kabooms.

What the f@ck is my problem?

I ask myself this question sometimes. The existential angst comes and goes like a turgid wave. It's a real crash, I hate it.

Poetry used to help; of course, I have written a grand total of two poems in the last two months. One of them was about Duran Duran.

Totally Spies is on the Cartoon Network. I love that show. Those cartoon chicks are hot! I can't wait for the x-rated version - there is some really juicy lesbian sex-scene potential at work with the blonde, the redhead and the black chick. I like the redhead...

I have got to finish this bloody book so I can become world famous and rich. It's overdue...

Hats

There are hats that are specifically made for the Kentucky Derby. Not for the jockeys, for the socialites who socialize there. This is one of them:

I want this hat. I want a turban, too, worn on TOP of this hat.
Like this turban:

This turban on top of that hat! Wicked. If I was more productive I would combine them with my trusty graphics program! But I am not... So there.

Wow, what a great post!

Mr. Fox and Rabbit - the Keeper of the Cheese - Part I

"Decrepit beast!" cried Rabbit.
"What?" said Mr. Fox, startled. He held the ice cream cone with a single paw.
"What?" said Dr. Bear, staring straight ahead. He espied a house on yonder hill.
"I espy a house on yonder hill," he said.
"Splendid," groaned Rabbit. "Is it Benny's?"
"Well, no."
"Shit."
"It's yours, Rabbit. I saw the will..."
"Oh yeah... right." They drove up the hill and walked up to the door. Even the doorknocker was made of cheese!
"You don't have any keys, do you?"
Rabbit frowned and fished out the carkeys. "Maybe one of these..." he trailed off since Dr. Bear bit into the doorknocker, followed by the door, and consumed it. "I guess we don't need the keys after all," he said in a flat monotone.
"I guess not," came a bitter reply from the kitchen.
"Who are YOU?" asked Rabbit.
"Flash Gordon, quarterback, New York Jets," supplied Dr. Bear with admirable joie de vivre. "I always wanted to say that."
"Here we are," began Mr. Fox with the pedantic air of a virgin countess after her first gangbang, "and we are in the cheese!"

Lord, what fools these mortals be!

I thought long and hard about a couple of things.
First off, is there a point to any of this?
The unnerving conclusion is a resounding NO.
Why would this be?
We live, grow old, die. We exist in objective and subjective time while we live (I will get to the afterlife in a bit). We eat and sleep and make love. We try to live so we can have a good time. Even the ascetics, they live their lives to maximize their happiness, since they define the fulfillment of their lives by their deprivations.
The days go by, one at a time, while we go to work, eat, sleep, read good books, fuck or lie in the dark crying for the warmth of another. The monotony is horrible for some of us, it leeches the color from our eyes and we become nothing more than automatons for absorbing calories and outputting shit.
Some of us can’t deal bear the monotony of this desert and engage in creative endeavors; we read escapist literature and we write stories or poems. We hide within our imaginations.
Some of us beg God for deliverance.
Some of us beg God for the apocalypse.
In the end, we die.
If there is no afterlife, there is no afterlife. But if there is an afterlife, what do we do once we get there? Does it last FOREVER?
If I am dead, what is the point of a continued existence? To feel good in the presence of God? To REJOICE in his radiance? Those are words without meaning. Maybe if I grew up starving, living forever in a land of plenty would sound pretty good to me.
Maybe heaven is a series of interactive fantasies, kind of like Second Life or World of Warcraft. If you are a World of Warcraft fanatic and you die, and you go to heaven, are you reincarnated as your character?
What about friends?
Can friends or family give meaning to your life? A lover or a wife (or a husband, I suppose)? It’s about memory, leaving fragments in the minds of those who cared for you while you lived. ‘My friend – he is dead now, I miss him’ – these are the thoughts we care to engender, this is the meaning of our lives, at least it is if we choose this interpretation. ‘My love – she is gone now, I miss her’ and you shed tears and you imagine that maybe if there is a heaven you will be with them forever once you die, and this hope of reunification gives you peace.
Children remember you, sometimes even grandchildren, but thereafter your memory fades away and you are gone. A few stories are all that remain of you on the lips of your descendants and then even those disappear.
So there is really no point to this. We can hide in fictional worlds, we can be the most loyal lover or friend in the world, we can pray to or curse the almighty, in the end the traces of one’s presence in this world fade, utterly.

Chicken and Rat

The capitol of Mongolia is Ulanbaatar. Mongolia is HUGE and full of mountains and wildflowers. I know, I know… There is that Gobi desert as well… Lots of horses, lots of grass, lots of flowers. Not a lot of trees, though.

It doesn’t mean that there weren’t any trees there in the first place. Jared Diamond wrote a book about, in essence, trees. Read it, it’s called Collapse. It is the sequel to Guns, Germs and Steel.

On Easter Island, when the first humans arrived, they found a lush subtropical forest with vast trees EVERYWHERE. As humans are wont to do wherever they go, they promptly cut the trees and planted boring, edible crops. They also brought rats and chickens with them. Since Easter Island is in the middle of nowhere, volcanic ash is practically non-existent in the soil; the nutrient content of the soil is replenished extremely slowly. This means trees grow slowly too. A tree which reaches a strapping 20 feet in 10 years in New Guinea might take 50 or a 100 on Easter Island.

Anyway, they cut down trees and built canoes so they could hunt dolphins. They had to hunt dolphins, you see, because Easter Island has no shallows. It was deepwater fishing or nothing at all. They were also isolated on the island and without central authority. To keep themselves company, they began to represent. They showed off the majestic power of their particular slice of island to the others by building a KICKASS statue on shore. Of course, these construction projects took a fuckload of timber.
So: dolphin hunting, show-off statue building, lack of soil nutrients, slow tree growth, rats.
The forests thinned, the huge palm tree that was indigenous only to Easter Island was cut down completely, the rats gnawed on the seeds on the ground so there were no saplings, then the shitty trees were cut down as well once the prime ones disappeared, and finally the LAST TREE WAS CUT DOWN in what I imagine was a frantic competition between rival gangs, a sort of a ‘tragedy of the commons’ scene.

The canoes began to leak and there was no way to repair them without wood. The people were cut off and there was nothing to eat. Without the trees, the soil eroded until parts of the island became near-desert. There were chickens (there are more chicken coops on Easter Island than statues by far) and rats inhabiting a stripped, raped island. And lots and lots of people.

So the people ate chicken and rat, but there were just too many people to feed with chicken and rat. So the people ate people until the population dropped to a level that was sustainable by chicken and rat. A few hundred people, no more.

A hundred years later Captain Cook arrived. He had lots of stuff – but when the natives saw his huge ship, the one thing that fascinated them, a word repeating over and over: (I can’t remember it, but it means:) ‘Timber!’

I am very lonely.
I miss Csilla.
I am going to the cafe to write now. If I stay here I will be sad.

The Story of a Fish

Cloaked, hidden, a watcher.
he is bathtub-warm, periscope eyed.
a terrified, vegan shark.

he says, 'I am grateful for my teeth, my ravenous appetite.'
chews seaweed, incisers snapping.

'there is a story here, of a fish.
'a story of a fish? asked Brehm.
'a story of a fish. He floated until he was far from shore
'far from shore?
'far from shore.

'a terrified, vegan shark...
'he chewed seaweed, incisers snapping.
'he floated until he was far from shore.
'there is a story here, of a fish.

'the sea was dead, here
'the sea was dead, here
'the shark began to sing.

'he began to sing?
'he began to sing.
'he had to people the water.
'the ocean was empty this far from shore
'oh yes - he floated until he was far from shore.

he sang, 'i float in empty waters
he sang and floated until he was far from shore.
he floated further and further and further, until he was far from shore.
he sang, 'i float in empty waters
'that is a boring song,'

he sang because he had to people the water, you see.
the ocean was empty this far from shore
you see, he floated until he was far from shore.

This was the story of a fish.

I'm pretty sure I'm depressed

because I went through all my papers to look for a copy of my diploma (I sort of found a document to prove that I have a law degree) for this translation bid... and I am just sitting here looking at blogs and things and I don't feel like putting them away. So I am now lying on my bed surrounded by a god awful mess. I am a poster child for depression - the only thing missing is a box-o-wine.

I've been having issues... I even put up a tearful entry about it for about 3 hours on Sunday but then I realized that it's too personal to share it with the world at large so I took it off. Maybe I will talk about it, eventually, but not at the moment... It's a girlfriend issue.

I am fairly certain I am depressed because I can't find the remote and the TV is stuck on the cartoon network and I don't have the willpower to go through the mess so I can change the channel. I won't change the channel manually, therein lies madness. The Cartoon Network is currently playing a 24 minute long playing-card commercial invented in Japan and drawn in Korea. It involves screaming bug-eyed kids who are somehow cool and popular despite spending all their time playing with geeky cards.

I am going to the local offices of a famous men's magazine (yes, the most famous one) to find a cover image for my first book... the publisher will pay for it. The lengths I go to for my art... This be a terrible thing methinks.

I have the second book up on screen but I simply don't feel like working.

I went to a bank and opened an account (one in pounds and one in forints) and tried to deposit my check from the publisher. Naturally, the bank just went apeshit about it. Costs costs costs, and it will take a month for the check to clear. Fuck them, I say. I will email the publisher and ask them to send my money by wire transfer. The alternative is 50-120 dollars in costs for a check that is not that big... I am babbling.

Went to an expat event last night - I won the poetry contest. The prize is this santa figure who sings while sitting in a rocking chair. It is awesome! I would put up a picture of it but I won't because I don't have a digital camera because I am stuck in the frigging stone age here, watching cable and surfing the net. The theme of the poetry contest was pop-music, so I wrote a poem about Duran Duran. I don't have the poem. Well, maybe I do, but I am too run-down to look for it.

Transformers - Cybertron is coming on. Optimus Prime is talking in this strangely warlike Hungarian. Hungarian does not work too well for warlike robot-speak. 'transform!' translates as 'atalakulas' and Starscream has been translated into Ustokos, which means 'Comet'. What the fuck? Starscream is NOT Comet. Right now the inevitable human sidekick is bitching at the robots for building their headquarters without VENTILATION AND BATHROOMS. What the fuck?

I don't get the obsession with having 3-5 suburbanite kids on the Autobot staff. Yeah yeah, I know it's a toy commercial...

TWP version of Transformers episode:
"Optimus! have you seen (let's name 'stupid kid #4' 'Billy') Billy?"
"No...?"
"Turn around, Optimus..."
"Okay?"
"Fuck, Optimus, you sat on him... There, it's that smear on your left thigh..."
"Autobots, transform!"
"Why?"
"What do you mean, why?"
"I mean... we can fly in robot mode. Why would I transform into a 1978 Ford Pinto? I mean, why? We keep running around as robots anyway, it's not like it's a disguise thing..."
blah blah blah blah. You get the idea.

I consumed the following food/drink items for dinner: a bag of hazelnuts; half a pound of smoked ham; .3 pounds of cheese; a liter of carbonated mineral water. My heart hurts. Seriously. It does.

Throwback Microwave

Wow. My new microwave ROCKS.

Actual directions for use of my microwave:

1. place food in microwave.
2. select desired setting.
3. set time for cooking.

That's it. The rest is nifty babble on cleaning. There is no clock. It's not programmable. There is not even a blinking thingie or whatever. It is like a brick. I LOVE IT.

Do I use microwaves? Not really. My mother for some reason gifted me with this appliance, claiming its utility for warming up food items she wishes to bestow upon me. She is good to me like that.

I also bought this basic kitchen mixer to manufacture the following nectar of the gods:

It's called the "perfect 10" and it consists of the following ingredients:

cream
hazelnuts
orange serbet or ice cream
freshly squeezed orange juice
honey

It is ungodly good. Better than any shake or drink I have ever tasted. Totally rad and such.

Hip-Hop Translation

A friend of mine who is a big fan of hip-hop asked me translate this gem into Hungarian... I confess this feels like a bit of a challenge...

Mmm! mmm, mmm, mmmOooh-oooh![hook - repeat 2x]
Shake ya ass, but watch yourself
Shake ya ass, show me what you workin with[verse 1]
I came here with my dick in my hand
Don´t make me leave here with my foot in yo´ ass; be cool
And don´t worry bout how I´m rippin this shit
When I´m flippin what I´m kickin nigga, that´s just what I do
I´m effervesecet and I´m off that crescent
Nastier than a full grown german shepherd; motherfucker keep steppin
They don´t fuck with me and they don´t
Y´all bitches cant catch me and you won´tPay ya fare, fix ya hair, throw that pussyGot prada for my boonapalist, and (? ? ) from debussy(? ? )
You think I´m trickin? bitch,
I ain´t trippinI´m buyin if you got nice curves for your iceberg
Drinkin henn and actin like it do somethin to me
Hope this indecent proposal make you do somethin with me
Fuck a dollar girl, pick up fiftyAnd fuck that coward you need a real nigga
Off top knick-a-boxers hurtin shitBend over hoe; show me what you workin with![hook][chorus]Attention all y´all players and pimpsRight now in the place to be (shake ya ass)I thought I told y´all niggas before
Y´all niggas can´t fuck with me (watch yourself)
Now this ain´t for no small bootiesNo sir cause that won´t pass (show me whatcha workin with)But if you feel you got the biggest one
Then momma come shake ya ass[hook][verse 2]
I like my women fire like cay-enne!!
Chocolate and bowlegged - when I´m runnin up behind her!!
Go head get ya pop-a-lock let the cock out
For girl don´t lie you know you wanna go back to my house
The man right chea wanna get under that dress right there
You spicy cajun we gon´ a good time over there
You better suck the head on them there crawfish
And you gotta bend all the way over to dance off this
Handle yo´ business but I know you do it way better, you dead wrong
So if you talkin bout how niggaz make noise when you pass by
Get yo´ fine ass on the floor girl this yo´ fuckin song!
Do yo´ thang don´t be scared, cause you gon´ get served
You get mine then you gon´ get yoursBout to make yo´ ass love it
Raise it up, show the g-string hustlin hustlin[chorus][hook][verse 3]
Stop yo´ cryin heffer, I don´t need all thatI got a job for you - the braided up pimp is back
Break them handcuffs, fuck you nigga move somethin
And if they ask you what you doin say, ooohh nuttin!
And we been doin for the past 2 somethin
And I´ve been beatin that pussy up now it´s smooth fuckin
You can betcha bottom dollar; if that pussy fire
You gon´ holla michael tyler!
So don´t act like you don´t be backin that stuff up
Girl in the club, cause that´s what you got ass for
Wobble wobble I´m infatuated
Bitch ride a dick like she makin a baby
And I see that we gon´ have to go to a quiet corner for just us two an´
Don´t worry about who lookin, just keep on doin what you doin
Cause a nigga like me gon´ get to work before I know the girl
Bitch what´s happnin, let ´em see, show the world![chorus][hook]
Uhh.. oooh-wee! good lawd!Damn!

NFL rant

"...he is as good as anybody in this league right now" is the stupidest sentence ever put together by a sportscaster. For some reason, these imbeciles are in love with this sentence. What they MEAN is that he is BETTER. They don't dare to say that because it requires that they take a position.

as good as anybody in this league? so he is as good as the third string guy who is about to be cut? so he is as good as the towel boy? so he is as good of a running back as the assistant cheerleader coach? Why do they insist on pissing me off with rank stupidity?

"Heck" - 'he is a heck of a player." FUCK YOU STUPID SPORTSCASTER. Stop using PC bullshit words. The word you seek is FUCKING GREAT or HELL. You want to say it but you don't dare because you don't have ANY FUCKING BALLS. Just sayin'.

TWP as sportscaster:
"Well, Chris, I think the Redskins will win this game. Seattle hasn't beaten anybody. Ever. Mike Holmgren reminds me of a burly, angry sausage."
"I... see. Well, Portis is a heck of a ..."
(crushing sportscaster's head with a two handed mallet) "SHUT UP FUCKER."

Things

I'm not going to talk about the crying in detail.
I am kind of like Jiggle Billy after he met Happy Time Harry.

I like Columbo; he is the fast food of cop shows. You know what you're gonna get, exactly. My issue with Columbo is that he is an old, decrepit dude who keeps hanging out with the murderer, completely alone and vulnerable, even after he showed the perpetrator how he did the deed. This is where the show usually ends.

I would tag on an extra 3 minutes where the murderer kicks the shit out of Columbo's withered ass and takes off to Mexico with the stolen painting where he lives on in a life of sybaritic luxury.

So, for those of you with knowledge of banking, I pose unto ye a question: I have a check drawn on a London bank in british pounds and I want to cash it but I can't do that since there is no Barclays in Budapest. What are my options? Do I have to deposit it? Where in the name of hell do I pay taxes on it? Here or there? Cause taxes here are a killer. I had to go and find me a London publisher. I'm a moron.

2nd book is up to 90000 words and it's semi-polished-done. I am sort of pleased about that.

Had beansoup today. It was rather TASTEEE.

I'm forlorn.

How are you?

Blogs are selfish things. Let's not talk about ME ME ME for a second. How are YOU? I'm really interested in this. What did you have for breakfast and why? Describe your dog's eyes! Have you ever grown beans in a pot? Have you ever eaten flowers, and if so, what did it taste like? Would you do it again?

I'm still crying.

The Worst Porn Ever

This link does not lead to any pictures or what not; it is an editorial describing the worst porn ever, so it is safe to be read at work or wherever.
It really sounds like the worst porn ever. It is hysterically funny, btw.

http://www.outpostnine.com/editorials/porn.html

Grass Fed Beef

According to www.eatwild.com
Choosing products from grass-fed animals is a win–win–win–win situation.

There is a picture of happy cows grazing on grass. It is really something to see.
Here is the picture:



Now note the presence of the tasty calves in the background! It is a win-win-win-win situation for them to have the good fortune to supply gourmand, discriminating humans with succulent, dense, grass-fed flesh!