The Winged Pig

Hungary

2011-01-25T19:24:00.000+01:00

I live in Hungary. I am profoundly concerned about the recent political developments here. The new governing party, Fidesz – party, not coalition - garnered a 2/3 majority in Parliament, meaning they can pass laws and constitutional amendments at will. The new media law created an oversight board with the power to destroy content providers who do not offer 'balanced' news. To enable the retroactive taxation of foreign companies (a popular measure, to be sure) and the nationalization of private health insurance, Parliament took fiscal matters from the jurisdiction of the Constitutional Court. Another check on central authority has been the office of the President of the Republic – this post has been awarded to a yes-man.

The constitution about to be adopted stipulates that once adopted, it can only be undone if two successive terms of Parliament wish to undo it with a two thirds majority. The current revisions, however, only have to be adopted ONCE. The preamble of the new constitution makes it clear that it is intended to cement the rule of a Christian majority, not to protect the freedoms of individuals, and definitely not to protect the rights of any minority. The clause about separation of church and state has been eliminated. Marriage has been defined in the preamble as the union of man and woman. 'Christian values' are emphasized.

The Office of the State Prosecutor is being used to harass people considered opponents of the regime. Former officials (often with justification, but also often without) are investigated and tried for corruption. A steady air of intimidation is settling over the country.

My concern is that once this regime fails – and fail it will, shall, inevitably, as its economic policies will cause mass dissatisfaction and a bloody revolution – the populace will not turn to the discredited liberals for succor. They will turn to the only political force which has not yet taken the reins of power in Hungary: the FAR right. A xenophobic, anti-semitic, violent bunch of neo-nazis, funded by Russia.

TRON: The Inheritance

2010-12-16T12:12:00.002+01:00

My GOD.
That was terrifying.
I had free tickets.
The movie 'Dungeons and Dragons' was an intellectual and emotional feast of the senses compared to this thing. 'Showgirls' was a subtle romance with powerful social commentary compared to this. Highlander III was a solemn vision of a potential future in comparison.

I was riding the metro home and I was in so much pain because of what I had just experienced that I began to laugh (no doubt to generate endorphins to counterbalance the anguish). I COULD NOT STOP. Yes, it was THAT BAD.

Incidentally, the trailer footage is NOT IN THE MOVIE. Jeff Bridges ought to kill himself. He ought to be sufficiently embarrassed to off himself. I recommend a pool full of hungry electric eels.

String Theory and Special Relativity and Sex

2010-11-28T14:32:00.002+01:00

So the idea behind string theory is that the world is not made up of particles. The world is made up of strings. The strings themselves are not the only things out there - there are also branes, for instance. A brane is kind of like a membrane. Imagine a string that's been ironed so long that the fabric of the string became flat and... membraney. These strings and membranes vibrate. It's the vibration that determines the property of something, whether we perceive it as matter or energy, for example.

Special relativity simply means that everything has the same amount of energy. Everything is moving with the same energy. For our purposes, let's call that the speed of light. That movement, however, goes in two directions. One of them is in space. That's what normal people call movement. The other is movement in time. Now it turns out that we spend the vast majority of our energy by moving forward in time. Things that move very very fast - close to the speed of light, in fact - are experiencing something called time dilation, meaning that they move SO FAST that they don't spend much, or indeed, any energy on moving forward in time, they spend it all on movement through space. So a photon - let's call that a particle of light, if you will let me - is the same age when it gets here from the other end of the universe as when it was 'born', since it has been moving at the speed of light. So it did not spend any energy in aging, in moving forward in time.

So to imagine the universe, imagine a very messed up tangle of string and rotted fabric in a bucket of boiling glue bubbles in 10 to 26 dimensions.

Doesn't this all turn you ON?

Barbie

2010-11-28T14:16:00.002+01:00

I just watched Barbie, a Fashion Fairy Tale.

I have two nieces - a 3 and a 7 year old - so the movie made perfect sense.

Evidently, shiny and pink is beautiful.

Question: Why was the hot dog man invited to the ritzy Black-White-and-Pink party at the conclusion of the movie? That made no sense whatsoever. He was a boring villain character.

I also wasn't particularly smitten with the protagonist, Sequin Barbie. She had the depth of an oil slick. I liked the evil bitch (Rachel?) who recorded Ken's voice to insinuate a breakup sequence. She was HOT. Shiny black hair, huge blue eyes, body like a gyrating hourglass. She also had brains. Why date Barbie, of all people? Then again, it's KEN.

Pearl of Wisdom

2010-11-25T22:33:00.002+01:00

Actual conversation between my sister and I:

SISTER: 'You like HER?' (referencing superhot chick at gala event in an incredulious tone) 'Your problem is that you always go for the hot ones and they inevitably turn out to be complete psychopaths.'
ME (subdued): 'That's true.'

Questionious Question

2010-11-15T16:25:00.001+01:00

is it a good sign when a girl offers to come over 'to mess around with a a bunch of paint and get totally filthy'?

Alive!

2010-11-14T18:20:00.002+01:00

Jesus H Christ on a popsicle stick, I'm alive.

Apparently I don't have brain cancer anymore. That's the good news.

I AM, however, making chicken that's way too old. It was raw, stewed in cream, and in my fridge. I am willing to take the chance. I am attempting to overcook it to kill the salmonella. Is that possible? I don't know, but I shall find out.

So I have driven a bisexual woman into full fledged lesbianism. In exchange, she offered a deal with the devil. I'm serious. She's a witch all kinds into blood magic and that sort of thing. I'm really, really unnerved. She actually sensed my doom and gloom ties with death (don't ask, I will get to that sometime soon, brain cancer is part of it, ... yeah, and offered to take him off my hands. Having said that, she claimed he was the source of my inspiration, which he sort of is, then offered to replace him with the devil. Imagine my facial expression). She then proceeded to tell me a bunch of evil shit that was totally on point, creeped the hell out of me. Girlfriend material?

I started on the biography of my best friend who was shot by his girlfriend. How fucked up is that? Disturbing is what it is. I have to get this thing DONE and done fast, but I am forced to come to grips with the fact that I don't know too many details about him. He was the guy I thought of first when I considered what I would do if I won the lottery. You know when you pick someone who should not have to work, whose job in this life would be to enjoy life, to feast and kiss girls and laugh and read and stand on a stage and act? That's what he was born to do, and that's what I would have given him, had I the means. I was not alone in this. But a man like that is the composite of a million stories and I was only a part of a few of them. I contacted people, begging for stories, but it's a painful request and I expect few responses.

Okay, the chicken burnt (or burned? I honestly don't know. I think like in all writing you just have to stay consistent. I was listening to this audio book and the guy kept saying 'lighted'. 'Lighted' instead of 'Lit.' So I find out lighted is the correct form from an audio book. A good audio book, but still). I ate a tiny bit of chicken. That will be the test. I don't think I need a whole lot of it to get sick, I think.

I will write messed up cartoon screenplay soon. I just need to re-read some of them. I have read the last three Hot Librarian entries. Jesus that girl is good.

holy batshit

2010-05-11T21:08:00.003+02:00

Ok everybody. Nobody is reading this blog so it doesn't matter, but I have double vision and dizzyness, so I might have a stroke any moment. So this might be a good-bye note.
It has not been a good run.

God only knows I'd squandered potential.
I will log on soon... and write some more junk if I survive this.

Lost in Translation

2010-01-16T16:33:00.003+01:00

Or just lost, I feel lost.
Miss being in love. I feel like a shadow sliding from day to day.

I saw Lost in Translation again. Longing. I miss the longing.

For relaxing times, make it Suntori time.

Scarlett called her mom and she did not listen. I don't think her character was named.

Wondertwin Powers, Activate!

2009-10-21T20:16:00.002+02:00

All right I am activating my wondertwin powers. Tomorrow I shall write a fairy tale and make bean soup. This is a good thing. I am turning on the on button on this blog because of Lady Gar Gar, so there.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6mhbxlz_wrI

I'm throwing a party on the 7th of November...

blah blah blah

Various Levels of Irritation

2009-03-22T19:13:00.000+01:00

How I loathe some people.

Spring

2009-03-21T21:58:00.002+01:00

I am very tense right now. But I am trying to relax. Sitting in a cafe. Writing my book. I think I will go get a beer. I don't actually want one. I don't. But I need the atmosphere of people sitting under subdued lights and feeling sociable.

Is this blog a form of communication? An open ended call to the world at large? I guess so. I wish I had the inclination to write delightful light-hearted witty sarcastic stuff like The Hot Librarian. That's what people want to read, not the gloom and doom and deadly serious dark shit that I'm dealing with on a daily basis.

I will write up something delightful on a daily basis from now on. Something frigging funny. Like the fact that my computer requires a firm hand if I want the letter G.

Here is a picture of something. Of course the blogger will put it on top so... yes, I know.

Dilemma

2009-03-21T21:57:00.001+01:00

I am trying to work out a dilemma. I hesitate to call it a moral dilemma, although I suspect most people would classify it as one. My stepfather is dying of colon cancer but nobody will tell him. The oncologist told my mother that he only had a few months left. He is in great pain and is taking powerful pain medication. He is in his early seventies.
My mother does not want me to tell him anything. She thinks he would collapse into himself and just die.
I have spoken to some people about this. Almost everyone agrees with this … strategy.
I don’t. I appear to be alone in this regard.
Face doom, I say. Face it and make your way with head held high. Aware. Fighting to the last breath. Creating new things. He is not a creative man, though. He has gotten old and he has given up on life; even before his diagnosis he had given up on life.
I don’t personally see the point of not telling him. If he is such a short timer he might want to use the time to, say, drink Scotch.
I am going to see him tomorrow. He complains of pain in his belly and looks at me in mute supplication for help. He does not understand – does not want to understand – that it has come to this.
People come to see him on a daily basis. I know that he is pleased of the attention, but he must be suspicious of his newfound draw.

I want no recommendations. I do not want to pass the buck on this to any degree.

I bought him a bottle of Scotch for Christmas. He does not want to touch it until his stomach gets better. I suspect he will never open it. I wish I could make him drink it with me. But opening it now would require full disclosure.

Holy Batshit I'm Back

2009-03-18T18:25:00.004+01:00

I decided to reactivate this thing because I looked up The Hot Librarian's blog and she is writing and that girl has so much talent it makes me sick. In any case a blog is a good tool to write momentary writer's blocks out of my system.

I attract 21 year olds and 36 year olds. There is an inexplicable gap...

So I went paintballing. At the very very end of the day I fell on my face in a concrete ruin on a former Soviet air force base. By the way, I was shot 9 times. All of them were headshots. But I am proud of having been the most treacherous of everyone - I had someone pretend to surrender with their hands up while I fired from over her shoulder. I realize this sounds awful, and it was.

Oh and my computer remembered the password to this blog but I don't, which is not good...

Painting - I worked some more on it

2008-04-10T11:55:00.000+02:00

Paintings

2008-03-18T13:27:00.000+01:00

Update

2008-02-15T17:59:00.002+01:00

The fancy stuff I am eating and drinking seem to be doing a lot of good. I am not dizzy anymore. Not all the symptoms are gone but I am feeling better. I will have the results of my latest brain MRI on Monday or Tuesday and then we will know if I need surgery. I decided to try to stave surgery off if at all possible. Repeated brachytherapy within 7 years often results in fried brains.

I am really busy. Writing is going well though. Also going regularly to spine exercise clinic. My therapist is hot as hell.

I shall now listen to this: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QaADnQzdyP8

Painting

2008-02-15T17:41:00.001+01:00

Yes, I know what it is.

2008-01-29T09:26:00.000+01:00

All right, I'm doing pretty well. There is a haze of presumably astrocytoma cells right of my pineal gland. Nevertheless, I am going to beat this thing. This is no mere bragging. I just know.

Book is going forward. This means the writing is coming along. If there is anyone reading this who knows the safeguards of a metro train - does it require a key, a numerical code, etc - I would appreciate the information. I specifically need info on the DC or London systems. If the FBI asks why I need this information, it's for a novel, not an attack against the West.

Came home late last night and much to my surprise the place was gleaming and neat and immaculate. The maid came by and cleaned up in my absence. Haven't paid her yet... But it is becoming rather obvious that my immediate environs reflect my state of mind and health. The place is looking great today and I feel good.

oh piano man

2008-01-22T00:28:00.000+01:00

Sing us a song, Oh Piano Man. Sing us a song something something.

I woke up to pain and numbness. Stinks, I tell ye!

Spine place tomorrow. Brain man will tell me what he found out about brain.

I want to whine but Rabbit is not having any of this shit.
Rabbit is dizzy too. Rabbit feels the fucking nausea (that's new). But Rabbit is getting pissed about it. Rabbit is slowly developing a manic grin.

I can't really believe this can be treated with frigging manual therapy or exercise. But what the hell. Rabbit is rich.

Piano Man is humping a whale.

More Paintings

2008-01-21T20:30:00.000+01:00

Mumra, the Ever Living

2008-01-19T13:51:00.000+01:00

One of my erotic novels was recognized. It's a nice boost, I was very happy, I won't say what it was 'cause then you will know who I am and that would scare me. I just finished writing up the interview that they asked for.

Just finished intravenous treatment. Neck pain is somewhat less and the dizzyness is less too. But something must be done about the intermittent numbness in the limbs and the head and the cold eyes and what not. It is pretty obvious that the problem is not the brain, it is my spine. So on Tuesday I am going to a funky spine clinic that does nothing but spine stuff. I am pretty sure that my doctor is so focused on my history with the tumor that he is viewing the neck thing as a side issue.

Going to see King Lear at the theater! Can't wait. When and if I am going through a breakup I will go see Othello.

There are three books on my desk next to the laptop. I use all three as reference materials for the current book: Holy Bible, Grimm's Fairy Tales, The Hitchiker's Guide to the Galaxy, and (ok, four) Viking Myths.
It's gonna be a great book!

With a wicked gleam...

2008-01-17T09:43:00.000+01:00

I am going to fight this. =)

Update Galore

2008-01-16T17:04:00.000+01:00

I am getting intravenous drip to decrease the inflammation of my spine. It is helping with the pain a little bit. But the dizzyness and the vision problems are getting worse. My doctor is reviewing the Acetate PET scan. He does not look happy.

The Acetate PET scan showed a resurgent tumor. Not big but there is something there that is not normal. That was about 8 months ago I think.

My left side is numb. My right arm is numb. My right fingers are numb. My left hand is getting numb.

Icy cold fingers, sharp lavender tingles.

The left side of my head is cold. My right eye is cold.
Painted on Monday night. It's pretty. I will post it later.
Sent out the first 40 pages of the book to be test-read by some friends.

I read all your comments and appreciate the input. When I got the thing in the first place, yes, I agree, I caused it. But now I want to live and to grow and to create. I don't want to die yet. I would be willing to make a deal: 3 years of perfect health. For that, I would be willing to give a lot. Incidentally I had an ex gf whose initials were JMD. I don't believe she would appreciate my appearance. I am making up for past regrets now, I have reached that stage in my life. So I am dizzy and in pain despite an overwhelming desire to live and fly.

Then again all this may be just a false alarm and my spine might be fucking me up. In that case it's still not good but I am hoping it will get better. I don't know. It's hard to concentrate.

I am taking each day at a time. Each day is a universe in and of itself. It starts with coffee and breakfast and vitamins and ends on-line with friends or live with friends. I am loved and people care for me and I have a wonderful apartment and I am writing my fifth book and it is GREAT, in all honesty, it makes no compromises at all.

My left foot is numb.
This is a whiny entry.

sharp black line

2008-01-14T00:19:00.000+01:00

i reached a threshold tonight. I can't cope with this anymore. I am in so much pain I can't sleep anymore. This is not some emotional depressed rambling - I will describe the problem: Unless I use my fingers to force a curve of my cervical spine, or unless I am lying on a full waterbottle (to force a curve) I am experiencing constant, excruciating pain. It radiates into my right arm and both hands. I will call my neural surgeon tomorrow. He does not want to operate and I don't want an operation but there may be no choice left. I can't really work anymore and I can't write anymore. I can barely leave my fucking apartment. I have no idea how I will go skiing in February - what a fucking joke. I am hoping I will be able to walk by February. I most certainly can't court someone like this and I'm lonely.
So I can't sleep. I can't work. I'm in constant pain. I can't exercise. I am being ground down. I have no fucking clue what to do.

Update

2007-12-07T16:43:00.000+01:00

So after an entire week of the doctor refusing to sign my diagnosis - and tell me what the fuck is going on - I finally got it today. The thing shrank a bit and is not glowing as brightly as before. This is good. When it grows and it glows like the sun it means you are going to die. So little glow and shrinking is good. Bad in erections, good in cancer.

London rocked. I love that town. The London entry is coming, with lots of pictures. It was a mindboggling thing, I need time to write it properly.

I'm gonna watch some cartoons and sleep.

The Murdered Apple

2007-11-27T09:32:00.000+01:00

Dreadlords

2007-11-26T21:05:00.000+01:00

Drinking mint tea right now.
In a bit of a funk - big surprise. Lower back is the problem right now. It is in constant rather sharp pain. My personal best guess is that the constant adjustment to deal with the neck pain finally screwed over the lumbar portion and now I am at the edge of a lumbar herniated disc. The only potential benefit is that the pain distracts me from the strange vision problems and tomorrow's brain MRI. It has been 8 months since the last one. That's ample time to see if something - anything - has GROWN or SHRUNK in there.

Of course I won't see the diagnosis until my return from London. I am meeting my publisher on Friday and we are going out drinking. Drinking. In London. With my publisher. I love the sound of that.

I resumed extensive mindcontrol exercises. This would normally be a positive development. I honestly believe I can heal myself (both spine and brain). The only problem with mind control and I is that when I do it a lot the tenuous link I heretofore managed to maintain with reality begins to slip. This is really a valuable resource when I write fiction but if anyone had any idea what images arise within my mind they would be disturbed. I am, sometimes.

I am having Guineafowl soup for dinner later. I got my apple painting from the studio and will post a picture of it tomorrow. These two things are related. How is not important. What is interesting is that for some reason I can't get a sharp image of the painting to upload. The camera is great - but for some reason it won't focus on the apple. It focuses on all other objects and people. There is no technical reason, so I am assuming THE APPLE DOES NOT WANT TO BE PHOTOGRAPHED. If you saw the painting you would understand why I lend credence to this idea.

Flicker flicker flicker.

I am raging against the dying of the light. But it is hard.

Breakfast

2007-11-13T08:42:00.000+01:00

I have just decided to make hot sandwiches for breakfast. I love hot sandwiches. I use smoked ham, tomatoes, two kinds of cheese, fresh bread, olives. I bake all this, sprinkle the result with black pepper and salt, and drink coffee and orange juice on the side. This will be my morning project. But first I have to go and buy ingredients.

Yes, anynomous (I know I misspelled that), a new book came out in the UK in October and in the US in November. It is under my pen name and top secret and what not so I won't talk about it here... Hopefully the new book will be out under my name and I will be able to talk about it.

Brain MRI is on the 27th. I am not worried about it. I just don't feel like there is anything in there that I am supposed to worry about.

I will be on the blog more often now. There might be a Mr. Fox and Rabbit too.
And I am painting! I painted an apple yesterday. I skewered it with a paintbrush and put it in the center of a bowl of water that I poured some red wine in. I called the picture Staked Vampire Apple. I will post a picture of it, eventually.

Personal Update

2007-11-10T14:32:00.000+01:00

I will post an update on my fate…

So on Monday I am going to my neural surgeon and tell him that my neck is wrecked but that after strenuous internet research I came to share his dislike of surgery. If he fuses my vertebrae (all three that are totally screwed) I will become something like a rigid twig with some meat. Also the ones over and under the bad part will take on additional strain and they are ALMOST fucked.

So Reni (this ungodly hot girl, the one on the left of this picture from the Halloween party, who is devoted to her boyfriend, lucky bastard) recommended that I take this powerful concentrate of glucosamine and things… And I am also taking this green shell extract… and I am going to the acupuncture woman in a few weeks… And I am going to a massage therapist… and I am doing the mind control thing…. Although I should be doing more of that. So that’s the neck issue.

Oh yeah – I had several tests all of which were POSITIVE, showing tumor cells in the center of my head. Having said that, my brain surgeon simply told me that they are not NECESSARILY tumor cells, just BRAIN DAMAGE due to MASSIVE RADIATION. I am going to see him on Monday and he will schedule my biannual brain MRI, which is always fun.

I confess: I rather enjoy encountering whining old people with flimsy ailments. They shut up in a real hurry and look rather displeased that their diseases suck so bad compared to my cool deadly disease. Fuck you, old person! My disease makes yours look like a WALK IN THE FUCKING PARK.

I am going to London at the end of the month to meet my publisher and research my latest book that I should be writing right now if I wasn’t such a lazy fuck.

I am going to Italy on a skiing trip in February, probably, because it’s a THRILL to ski with 3 herniated discs and a shunt. I mean that. One skies really well when falling means potential DEATH or PARALYSIS. But, you know, fuck it. I live but once (well, I only remember 1 life at a time) and I might as well make the most of it.

I am playing Fantasy Football, a 14 person league with 17 players on each team. I am going to bitch about fantasy football for a bit. Half the people don’t pay any attention, so they don’t plug in people when there is a bye, they have sleepers languishing on their bench, etc etc. Fantasy Football would be great if international disputes were settled that way. People would REALLY PAY ATTENTION. God I really want to drink a Coke. I am eating Nutella but that’s not a true Coke substitute.

I translate a lot… I had to type so much I got repetitive stress injury. And then I closed my window last night by pushing against the glass and OF COURSE I BREAK THROUGH THE FUCKING GLASS and there is blood and this enormous shattering sound outside my window (I live on the 2nd floor, about 5 meters off the ground) and I couldn’t tell if my hand was numb because it had severed nerves or because of the repetitive stress injury so I went out to a comedy club (THE Comedy Club, there is really only one in this city) where my friends stared at my hand and made baffled noises.

So the current plan of attack is to finish the new book, await the results of the brain and neck MRIs, date someone again (it’s been a long time) and enjoy each frigging second. And rink some coke.

Halloween Party

2007-11-04T18:26:00.000+01:00

Vogalonga - Venice in a 7 person canoe

2007-05-29T21:37:00.001+02:00

Mr. Fox and Rabbit - There be Disturbances

2007-05-04T11:26:00.001+02:00

'I love girls with smoking hot eyes.'
'You love girls period.'
'True, true... I am detoxing right now.'
'Really?'
'Yeah. Well, at least until lunch. And then tonight I'm going out to this bar for beers.'
'Effective.'
'Yeah.' Rabbit leaned back on the couch. 'So I'm supposed to go to Venice at the end of May.'
'To do what?'
'Just stuff. http://www.vogalonga.com/
'Are you fucking serious? You will be going to this???'
'Yeah. With a bunch of buddies. Of course, it promises to be a killer.'
'What do you mean?'
'Well, I have two herniated disks in my neck and a brain tumor. So I might not live through the event.' Rabbit grabbed a carrot and bit it in half, grinning maniacally. 'I mean, rowing for 20 miles in a canoe while my spine is splitting in half is a recipe for spontaneous combustion. Or something.'
'You won't catch on fire...'
'I might.'
'Any girls?'
'No... I don't think so.'
'Shit, Rabbit, go get some already.'

Mr. Fox and Rabbit - There be Disturbances

2007-05-04T11:26:00.000+02:00

'I love girls with smoking hot eyes.'
'You love girls period.'
'True, true... I am detoxing right now.'
'Really?'
'Yeah. Well, at least until lunch. And then tonight I'm going out to this bar for beers.'
'Effective.'
'Yeah.' Rabbit leaned back on the couch. 'So I'm supposed to go to Venice at the end of May.'
'To do what?'
'Just stuff. http://www.vogalonga.com/.'
'Are you fucking serious? You will be going to this???'
'Yeah. With a bunch of buddies. Of course, it promises to be a killer.'
'What do you mean?'
'Well, I have two herniated disks in my neck and a brain tumor. So I might not live through the event.' Rabbit grabbed a carrot and bit it in half, grinning maniacally. 'I mean, rowing for 20 miles in a canoe while my spine is splitting in half is a recipe for spontaneous combustion. Or something.'
'You won't catch on fire...'
'I might.'
'Any girls?'
'No... I don't think so.'
'Shit, Rabbit, go get some already.'

Fuck Me Sideways

2007-03-06T16:53:00.000+01:00

Looks like the brain tumor is making a return trip and I also need surgery on my herniated discs... Other than that not much is going on.

Going to the Opera tonight to watch the Taming of the Shrew's ballet adaptation.

I'm hungry. I crave sushi.

Still in love. Horny too!

Will start writing on a daily basis now because I'm pretty much out of it.

Love,
Pig

A New Entry!!!

2007-01-06T09:56:00.000+01:00

I’ll do a personal blog entry. It’s been a long time and I’m rather sick of metaphors.

Naturally, there are girl issues.

She has really beautiful blue eyes, insight, her wings are damaged – like Fitzgerald - but she’s beautiful, and she is not interested. I think that rather sums it up. (Loud groan from the peanut gallery: here he goes again on a lovesick rant). I did the standard Winged Pig thing (pining away, misery, poetry, blah blah blah) but I’m getting over it.

I refuse to post the poetry. I would be terminally embarrassed if it was discovered. It’s in Hungarian anyway so what would be the point?

---

The condo is phenomenal. I already threw two parties – the housewarming party and a new year’s eve party – and both were successful (although the New Year’s Eve party was better).

So – METRO. It’s the novel I am currently working on. It’s a free book, meaning I write down what the characters do in each scene, frequently surprised by their actions. Unless I count the last erotic novel (which I had written in 5 weeks) nothing ever came this freely. Free and easy are not the same, unfortunately. Certain scenes are easy, the ones that turn out to be autobiographical (yes, of course I write about HER a lot, big frigging surprise, I just change her name) or the one scene that is set in Atlantic City. I know what was going to happen there, that makes it simple. It’s when I am at the end of a scene and it’s time to move on to another that I occasionally freeze. The book also has four main characters that are all connected to one another through the Train. I will have to do a lot of rewriting. I gave myself until the end of February to finish it.

I don’t write much at home anymore. I find that I get depressed when I’m alone. It’s too easy to just sit there, mope and surf the web. It’s easier if I sit in a café and do my work there. It’s a laptop activity. I have developed an ever growing degree of respect for people who were able to write longhand. The very idea that I should write on paper with a pen gives me a hand cramp. Also, I type 80 words per minute – if I had to write longhand I would tear my hair out of sheer frustration. I mean, War and Peace! That was written one ink-smudged page at a time. It wouldn’t be considered overly long now.

An image or two of my accident in Transylvania two years ago

2006-12-27T10:47:00.000+01:00

Do you see me?

2006-09-28T01:28:00.000+02:00

When I dream I remember all my other dreams. I just woke up and I remember them all and I must write down what I have seen before the memory fades.

I fly, like always. It is not winged flight; it is a strange, halfway swimming-like flight, close to the ground, dipping low. It's slow, I am not in full control. Almost always I am inside some building or some structure.

I always fly but nobody acknowledges the act of flying, as if it was completely normal.

I crave the recognition of the act of flying, I want someone to say: 'You're flying! My God!'

Instead, I ask the same question, always, night after night: 'Do you see me?' I sing this desperate line, over and over, I croon it.

Tonight I was in a movie theater with someone else. I don't remember who it was, the pictures fade fast. But there was a THING near the floor, like a seahorse, a withered rootlike body, a single stalk, a head with tight yellow skin and metallic burnished orange-yellow eyes, flat. It blinked once and I thought maybe it saw me.

I sang to it as I floated past, dipped once, touched the floor. 'Do you see me?' I tried to catch a glimpse of recognition within those orange-yellow eyes.

I woke up.

Diggin' Up Corpses

2006-09-08T19:10:00.000+02:00

I went to dig up corpses the day before yesterday. I wanted to post this yesterday but I didn’t have the pictures yet. I have the pictures now. So…
Kata, a friend of mine, is an anthropologist. She keeps getting invited to biologist/anthropology events. A cemetery is being converted into a housing development (I know it sounds like the Night of the Living Dead (or was it the Return of the Living Dead?). This cemetery has been closed down for 50 years and the catholic church finally agreed to sell – under one condition: Remove the bones and relics and put them in bags for reburial/etc. Obviously, to avoid zombie attacks on the yuppie inhabitants.
I obviously jumped at the chance. I mean, few ever get the opportunity to dig up corpses from the 19th century. Most of these dead were from 1880-1890.
Anyway, they have a heavy duty hauler that clears away 95% of the land and toss the gravestones aside. Then we move into the big hole and clear away the rest until we hit COFFINS and BONES.

I went to dig up corpses the day before yesterday. I wanted to post this yesterday but I didn’t have the pictures yet. I have the pictures now. So…
Kata, a friend of mine, is an anthropologist. She keeps getting invited to biologist/anthropology events. A cemetery is being converted into a housing development (I know it sounds like the Night of the Living Dead (or was it the Return of the Living Dead?). This cemetery has been closed down for 50 years and the catholic church finally agreed to sell – under one condition: Remove the bones and relics and put them in bags for reburial/etc. Obviously, to avoid zombie attacks on the yuppie inhabitants.
I obviously jumped at the chance. I mean, few ever get the opportunity to dig up corpses from the 19th century. Most of these dead were from 1880-1890.
Anyway, they have a heavy duty hauler that clears away 95% of the land and toss the gravestones aside. Then we move into the big hole and clear away the rest until we hit COFFINS and BONES.
The first gravesite was a crypt. I went inside. There was the lid of a tin coffin. They were a bit concerned about the tin coffin. I didn’t know why – until they pulled me aside and explained about the Tiramisu Dead.
You see, tin coffins are fairly solidly built things. Some of them are so well built that they keep the body rotting for decades. No dessicated mummies in some of them. They still have flesh that sort of pools and congeals against the bottom of the coffin and we have to pull it off with a sickening slurpy sound that is only bearable because you are too occupied with the horrifying stench of decaying ancient flesh. These are the Tiramisu Dead. They sort of look like rotted Tiramisu.
So I jump in the crypt and hand out the tin coffin lid. Gratefully, the corpse is intact and DRY. I mean, it’s a nearly perfectly preserved skeleton. It’s staring at me. It is holding a cross in his right hand.
We dug up a lot of bodies. We put them in boxes. Then we tagged them. We wore rubber gloves. The heat was stifling so my hands were sweating up a storm and the gloves became stained with old human bone.
The biologists/anthropologists/archeologists were making jokes. ‘Look at the knee of this dude,’ said a funny guy, ‘When he croaked he could barely walk. It’s beautiful!’ (Tossing knee to other fellow).
‘Why’re you calling it beautiful?’
‘Hahaha.’

Pig glances to the side of the pit. ‘Hey! I found a skull!’ (pulls skull from the sand).
(Fellow Digger) ‘Yeah. That’s a child’s skull. 11 or 12 years old. Well done!’
(Pig) ‘Nifty!’
(Fellow Digger) ‘Hey, did you guys have anyone listed around 11 or 12 nearby?’
(Fellow Digger in Charge) ‘No? Wait… Yeah, there was someone in that age bracket.’
(Fellow Digger) ‘Toss this skull in with the rest of it then please.’
The first gravesite was a crypt. I went inside. There was the lid of a tin coffin. They were a bit concerned about the tin coffin. I didn’t know why – until they pulled me aside and explained about the Tiramisu Dead.
You see, tin coffins are fairly solidly built things. Some of them are so well built that they keep the body rotting for decades. No dessicated mummies in some of them. They still have flesh that sort of pools and congeals against the bottom of the coffin and we have to pull it off with a sickening slurpy sound that is only bearable because you are too occupied with the horrifying stench of decaying ancient flesh. These are the Tiramisu Dead. They sort of look like rotted Tiramisu.
So I jump in the crypt and hand out the tin coffin lid. Gratefully, the corpse is intact and DRY. I mean, it’s a nearly perfectly preserved skeleton. It’s staring at me. It is holding a cross in his right hand.
We dug up a lot of bodies. We put them in boxes. Then we tagged them. We wore rubber gloves. The heat was stifling so my hands were sweating up a storm and the gloves became stained with old human bone.
The biologists/anthropologists/archeologists were making jokes. ‘Look at the knee of this dude,’ said a funny guy, ‘When he croaked he could barely walk. It’s beautiful!’ (Tossing knee to other fellow).
‘Why’re you calling it beautiful?’
‘Hahaha.’

Pig glances to the side of the pit. ‘Hey! I found a skull!’ (pulls skull from the sand).
(Fellow Digger) ‘Yeah. That’s a child’s skull. 11 or 12 years old. Well done!’
(Pig) ‘Nifty!’
(Fellow Digger) ‘Hey, did you guys have anyone listed around 11 or 12 nearby?’
(Fellow Digger in Charge) ‘No? Wait… Yeah, there was someone in that age bracket.’
(Fellow Digger) ‘Toss this skull in with the rest of it then please.’

2006-07-29T23:09:00.000+02:00

Observations on Flash Gordon (the Movie):

1. Galaxy of Pleasure
Apparently there is a Galaxy of Pleasure (where the dream wine comes from, the wine that many brave men have died to bring to Mungo). My question is: where is this place and why would these brave men ever leave it? An ENTIRE GALAXY! This does beg the question: in this entire galaxy (admittedly dedicated to pleasure) who does actual work? Do they have migrant workers from, say, our galaxy who commute to the pleasure galaxy to clean hot tubs and man the condom factories?

2. Headstone
There is an artifact somewhere that I must have. It is Flash Gordon’s HEADSTONE from the movie. It says:

Flash Gordon
Earthling
Executed
By
Ming

I have to have this thing. I want to be buried under it.

3. People Magazine
Now, when Flash Gordon and Dale get to Dr. Zarkoff’s lab by crashlanding the plane, the pilots have already fallen out. They’re gone. Then Flash and Dale and Dr. Zarkoff blast off in Dr. Zarkoff’s rocket and never come back to Earth (at least not for a few years). The only thing left on the plane is an issue of People magazine with Flash on the cover. Flash autographed the thing at the pilot’s request (just before they died) and put in a personal dedication to the pilot’s son, whose name is Buzz.
I mean, how fucked is Buzz? His father is DEAD. All he got out of this deal is an autographed People magazine by the quarterback of the New York Jets. Admittedly, how frigging valuable would this be to some genuine NFL freak?
The quarterback of the New York Jets is presumed dead, his frozen corpse is in some rocket in deep space, and his last communication on Earth is the People magazine autograph. I mean, this sucker would fetch a pretty penny.

4. Princess Aura
Portrayed by Ornella Mutti. There is nothing funny about her. I just had to mention her. It was a need. ‘Not the bore-worms!’ Ok, that’s funny.

Hail Flash!

The Yellow Band - Part 4

2006-07-29T20:26:00.000+02:00

'Tonight I will try to dream of the door. So that I can go back to where I came from,' said Chorgil. 'Swim through memories I chose to put aside.'
'You could drink,' said Stilt. 'Many men do, to forget.'
Sylvia frowned. She looked up at Stilt and shook her head. 'He must not do that. His memories are like raging waters held by a feather-thin dam. If it breaks, they will devour him. It's the way Elves die. The ones that are not killed.'
Shadows coalesced in the air around the Elf's head. Some of them were flickering visions of frail beauty.
'He had lovers?'
'Thousands,' sighed Chorgil. His sigh sounded like it came from many throats. 'Thousands and thousands and thousands.'
'You could go on,' said Stilt. 'And you probably will. How old is he?'
The mask fled the Elf's burnt face. His blue eyes glittered like mountain lakes on a charred plateau. He sang the words: 'Thousands and thousands and thousands and thousands!'
'What's wrong with him?' asked Philippe. 'He has never been like this.'
'He's lonely,' said Sylvia. 'Terribly lonely. All his friends are dead. He's going to dream of his door and visit them in his memories. It's a dangerous trip and he may not come back.' She chewed her lips. She looked down at the ground and then she looked up at Stilt. 'Don't ask that last question. Tug at his roots and the world might shake.'

The Yellow Band - Part 3 (alt. title: the Pig can write more than dialogue)

2006-07-28T19:34:00.000+02:00

Blazing green lines extended two feet from both gloved hands. The gloves themselves were cracked black leather. He ran forward, lithe and ever so fast. He landed in the middle of the courtyard with a single effortless somersault.
Those blue eyes – blue like water should be – scanned the walls that surrounded him. There were six crossbow wielders and an old Ghi-Nome on a giant ant. He was brandishing a rod with a pyramid at its apex. The Wizard pointed the wand at Chorgil and a purple haze appeared around the Elf’s face.
The crossbows twanged and the butterfly took off. The mask didn’t want to get hit.
Bolts ricocheting from the cobblestones, he ran for the north wall. Just before collision he stabbed the Twin Blades of Grass into the solid rock and jumped on top of the copper hilts. The grass blades flexed under his weight and propelled him into the air like a catapult.
Up in the air, he whirled like a tornado. His eyes glittered as the butterfly settled on the burning remains of his nose.
He held out his hands and sang as he began to fall. The Twin Blades of Grass thrummed within their rocky prison and snapped free. They trailed burning emerald light as they spun through the air. Chorgil’s hands grasped them just as he landed on the ant’s back, next to the Wizard.

The crossbow-wielder’s head – the upper half - fell off. The Dwarf grabbed the pink-splattered half-orb from the ground and tossed it to the one which was engaged in the act of firing.
The Ghi-Nome fired and his bolt slammed into the cleaved skull fragment, punching a hole clean through. The bolt hit Vechus’s helmet with a violent clanging sound.
Vechus rushed in and dove forward, aiming at the enemy’s toes. He cut them off from the left foot.
The Ghi-Nome fell on top of the Dwarf and screamed. Frothing bubbles appeared around his lips and then he was silent.
Vechus rose. He shed the corpse like a leaf sheds a solitary raindrop. He picked up the shattered half-skull by the crossbow bolt and held it high with his free hand.
The Dwarf walked into the enemy camp, wielding his burden, wearing that horrible, toothy grin.

Sylvia cut his throat and smiled at the next one in line.
‘I love you,’ panted the little fellow with bright yellow eyes. ‘I love you!’
Sylvia cut his throat and smiled at the next one in line.

Hissssss….
Hissssss….
Hissssss….
Hissssss….
Hissssss….
Hissssss….
The sounds of frantic conversation behind the battlement and the results…
‘Now that’s just completely unfair,’ said Stilt. ‘You’re all coming at me with those silly helmets backwards. It is true that I can’t see your eyes… But you’re all completely blind, I hope your realize this.’
‘Oh, hello Vechus. How is it going? Your gigantic poison axe looks exceptionally fine in the morning sunshine.’
The sounds of frantic repositioning of helmets, blinking…
Hissssss….
Hissssss….
Hissssss….

Philippe went after the Wonton mercenaries. He had to occupy them to keep Sylvia safe.
They were enormous, close to 7 feet tall, clad from head to toe in blue Trommergis steel. They used axes and cleavers that made Vechus’s toy look like… a toy. With all that blue steel they even gave Chorgil trouble.
There were nine of them, a full platoon. They had a berserker with them. The naked man carried a huge quarterstaff with a small forest of steel chains and led balls swinging at the end.
The Berserker roared and swung the enormous flail. A chain came off and flew over the wall. The rest of the Wontons hefted their polearms. They said nothing. They were professionals. Wontons who made it out were all mercenaries. It was their only way out.
Philippe drew a black rapier. It looked like it had a brittle cast iron blade.
‘Well, boys,’ he said. ‘This is a Gaevit Luitra. You may have heard of this one. I don’t talk when I fight, but you deserve to know what’s about to happen to you.’
The Berserker broke into a shambling run. The rest of the Wontons closed in on him, neutral, workmanlike, calm.
‘All right then,’ said Philippe and leveled the rapier like some conductor’s baton. ‘Say hello to FlameBender.’

The Yellow Band - Part 2

2006-07-20T11:29:00.000+02:00

‘Well, that was educational.’ Stilt picked up a mushroom from the floor of the dank dungeon. ‘You think this is edible?’
Vechus nodded. ‘Could be poisonous though.’ He brightened. ‘If you die I will use it on my battle-axe.’
‘I suspect we failed in our mission,’ said Philippe. ‘I mean, they didn’t leave. They haven’t entered yet though.’
‘Who’s going to pay us?’ asked Sylvia. ‘No offense people, but the CITY can’t pay us. Architecture alone can’t… I mean, it requires some inhabitant to give us money. The inhabitants are all dead…’
‘You killed them,’ interrupted Stilt. He wore a helpful smile.
‘…and we can’t just take our fee from the houses. That would be robbery. And I had help. You killed some; I distinctly recall a few dozen that had white arrows sticking out of their eye sockets.’
Chorgil closed his eyes and very slowly let his hands fall to the side. First his feet and then his toes lifted from the ground until he hovered in a comfortable 45 degree position. ‘I heard of a new fruit called Bananas,’ he whispered.
‘They attacked me. It was self defense. That doesn’t count.’
‘Won’t they sense you hovering down here?’ asked Philippe. ‘Ghi-Nome have wizards.’
‘No,’ said Sylvia. ‘He is not using magic. He is just unaffected by the pull of the ground. When he forgets it’s there.’*
Chorgil fell on the ground. He just lay there. He opened his eyes. ‘Bananas,’ he said with a voice like crystal chimes hitting a wall. ‘Bananas.’
‘Anyway, Ghi-Nome wizards are not like me. They’re strictly line-of-sight.’
‘So if you were invisible…’
‘No. I would still be line-of-sight. They just couldn’t see me.’
‘We just got down here,’ said Stilt. ‘Let’s settle down. Let’s figure out what exactly we should do.’

* yeah I know this resembles a certain concept that was published by a certain someone. Douglas Adams' estate can sue me for money I do not have.

The Yellow Band - Part 1

2006-07-17T17:25:00.000+02:00

Vechus slammed the head of the monkey against the rock. It exploded. It was a grey-pink eruption. ‘Now we have lunch,’ he said. He held the limp body with a single gauntleted hand like he just won some kind of a prize.
Sylvia frowned. ‘You killed a sentient being. I don’t eat meat with reasoning powers.’
‘So? And since when are monkeys sentient?’
‘That was a Ghi-Nome, not a monkey. They’re about three feet tall and they wear furs. It was just wearing the Ghi-Nome monkey-suit.’
‘That’s a mistake it won’t make again,’ said Stilt. ‘I will go hunt up some tasty rats in a few minutes. We will have plenty of non-sentient meat for dinner.’
‘What’s wrong with it?’ asked Vechus. ‘It looks fine to me. Not too fatty.’
‘The closer something is to a human,’ said Sylvia, ‘the more likely you’ll catch disease from it. That’s why a human is relatively safe from catching disease from something like wheat but pretty likely to get sick from a sick cow or pig.’
‘Or a Ghi-Nome,’ said Stilt.
She just nodded.
‘Whatever,’ spat Vechus. ‘We’re in the middle of the Thruuva, we’re cut off and we’re surrounded by a fuckload of monkeys.’
‘Ghi-Nome,’ said Sylvia.
‘And we’re running out of poison. What am I gonna dip my battle axe in?’
‘Overkill,’ frowned Sylvia. ‘What’s the point?’
Chorgil landed in between them with a spinning summersault. The charcoal black butterfly mask came off the burned ruin that was his face. It fluttered in the air for a brief moment before it resumed its customary position.
‘Intimidation,’ said the Elf. ‘Nothing in their right mind fights Vechus.’
‘You fight him all the time,’ said Philippe.
‘He’s crazy,’ said Stilt. ‘The Dwarf does make a point though. We’ll have to start eating monkeys or Ghi-Nome or each other unless we break out.’
‘Sylvia could make them think we surrendered or something,’ said Stilt. ‘Or make the leader fall in love with her. Or fry them all with fireballs. For that matter, Chorgil could go outside and kill them one by one in a couple of weeks.’
‘Do you know how dangerous that is?’ asked Sylvia. ‘There are Wonton mercenaries in that camp. All I need is for one of them to come close while I’m casting a charm and it will rebound on me like a cut bowstring. Fuck THAT.’
Stilt faced Chorgil. ‘How about you then, Butterfly Boy?’
‘They’re expecting me. I’m expecting them. Here I have the advantage. They have some traps laid for me in that camp. I can sense them. Anyway, I’ve done this before. It would bore me.’
‘So if we break out,’ said Vechus. ‘Then what? We’re in the center of the Thruuva. It’s all bugs and humidity and jungle and disease for five hundred miles in all directions. Can we break out with enough supplies to make it? There are antriders between here and Mirm. Shit, there are antriders between here and Zendivett.’
‘Don’t think like they do,’ said Sylvia. She gestured towards the huddled mass of defenders in the courtyard. Most of them were moaning. The wounds drew a veritable cloud of insects. ‘Think like he does.’ She motioned towards Chorgil.
‘There is a good idea,’ said Vechus. ‘Let’s think like an insane Elf. There is teamwork for you. All right then. I will give it a try.
The Dwarf furrowed his eyebrows. ‘We kill everybody here and toss the heads over the walls,’ he said. ‘Burn strangeass runes into the foreheads. Lots of wriggly lines. We prop up the headless bodies on the walls with spears or something… In the morning the bastards wake up and they see this pile of fresh heads and a totally quiet city that’s manned by headless corpses. They freak and leave.’
For a moment there was complete silence.
Chorgil broke it. ‘That’s actually something I’d never done,’ he admitted with obvious reluctance. ‘I’m in.’
‘Wait,’ said Philippe. ‘We were hired to defend the city.’
‘Right,’ agreed Chorgil. ‘The CITY.’

Frustrated Rage - Part II

2006-07-13T17:26:00.000+02:00

I can't bear to look at my stolen bike's picture every time I look at this blog so I am going to bless everyone with another Danielle Riley picture... I mean, the picture of the girl that Sylvia poisoned... You know... That way every time I look at this blog I will be happy instead of just wanting to smash my head through the drywall.

Frustrated Rage

2006-07-13T14:27:00.000+02:00

Some fuckwad stole my bike last night.
Ok, so I shouldn't have left it outside no matter how thick that stupid lock was.
Maybe the asshole shouldn't have stolen it, though.
I can't afford to replace it and I don't like to walk when I can ride.

Translating Hungarian Legalese - Subtitle: I can see God ordering another flood

2006-07-12T21:23:00.000+02:00

a) a tisztességtelen piaci magatartás és a versenykorlátozás tilalmáról szóló 1996. évi LVII. törvény 11. §-a (2) bekezdésének e) pontjával kapcsolatban – öt évnél nem régebben meghozott – jogerős és végrehajtható verseny-felügyeleti határozatban vagy a verseny-felügyeleti határozat bírósági felülvizsgálata esetén a bíróság jogerős és végrehajtható határozatában megállapított jogszabálysértést nem követett el; illetőleg az ajánlattevő ilyen jogszabálysértését más versenyhatóság vagy bíróság –öt évnél nem régebben – jogerősen nem állapított meg;

The word by word translation of this gem is as follows:

a) the dishonorable market behavior and the limitoncompetition prohibitionabout concerning 1996. year LVII. law 11. par. a (2) paragraph e) pointwith inconnection - five yearsof not older brought - binding and executable competition-supervisory indecree or the competition-supervisory court inspection incase the court binding and executable indecree determined lawandregulationviolation not committed; and/or/regarding the bidmaker such law/regulationviolationthereof other competitionauthority or court - five years not older - bindingly not determined;

I am NOT kidding.
I love this language.

I am pissed off so...

2006-07-10T19:09:00.000+02:00

..it's time for Vechus to make an appearance. Vechus is a Dwarf. He is another founding member of the Yellow Band and he doesn't fuck around.

The picture is pretty much on the money except for the lack of a beard. The personality is similar - except that Vechus has a lot more morose rage. Also, Vechus uses a battle axe. Other than that it's a perfect facsimile.

It's a Bug's Life

2006-07-02T21:02:00.000+02:00

I took my guests from the US (John and Wyn) to Tihany, this really picturesque peninsula at Lake Balaton.

It was hot as hell. Uhm, 31 degrees IS hot as hell. Just sayin'.
Anyway, we're at the beach and this ENORMOUS BUG starts coming towards Wyn who starts freaking out.

'What the hell is THAT?'
'It's the largest insect in Europe. It's a stag beetle.'
'Holy shit!' (the thing has gigantic horns and it's over two inches long. It's moving forward with a lurching gait and it has this strange sense of purpose.) 'Oh good, it's moved past us.'

Thing comes to a screeching halt and begins to stalk Wyn.

'Oh shit.'

Somewhere in its brain (I know bugs have small ones) it came to a decision and started to lurch directly towards Wyn who began to consider flight.
Again, it changed its mind and turned away. It now moved DIRECTLY towards the bag of a sunbathing woman in her fifties. I WISH I had a camera.
It crawled up the bag and disappeared inside.

John: 'OH MY GOD. THERE WILL BE SCREAMING WHEN SHE GETS HOME.'
Wyn: 'You guys are so mean. We should tell her.'
Pig: 'You're right, we should.'
SILENCE.
John: God, it's gonna be funny.

Sylvia

2006-07-02T12:37:00.000+02:00

'Sweet mother of the Sea Hag! Is that Sylvia?'
'Not exactly. It's the last girl Sylvia poisoned for looking good.'
'Oh...'
'There are similarities.' Vechus stared at an apple, suspicious, before shrugging and biting into it.
'Like?'
'Hair color. Eye color. Skin color.'
'Breast size?'
'Not even close. Those are 34DDDs. I suppose Sylvia is closer to a C-cup.'
'So what's she like?'
'She is the Red Sorceress. She always wears a red dress. She is intelligent, pragmatic, jelaous, sort of a force-of-nature in sensible heels. She's a co-founder of the Yellow Band, along with me and the blue bastard I spoke about earlier. Her defining characteristics are intelligence and envy.'
'That sounds like a barrel of fun.'
'She can also make you THINK that she looks like her.' (Vechus points at the picture)

Melting, I am melting

2006-06-26T15:12:00.000+02:00

It's sooooo hot!!! I'm MELTING! It's like this here. I hate blogger. I just hate it. It's like the sun, okay?

I sent my guests from the US to this wicked cool spa (actual pictures of place) with marble pools and an artificial wave generator. Unfortunately I have to do this translation and my FINGERTIPS ARE OOZING SWEAT on the keyboard.

Chorgil

2006-06-19T20:45:00.000+02:00

'Tell me about him.'
'He's the Blue Elf. The picture is not very good. He has black hair and very blue eyes. He wears a black butterfly mask and he has two vibrant green swords, the Twin Blades of Grass.'
'What's he like?'
Vechus shrugged. 'He's fast. He... I guess his problem is that he has no moral center.'
'I'm not sure I follow.'
'Right and wrong are things he is just learning. It's because he's not human. He's a dancer.'
'A dancer? How is dancing involved?'
'If I kill you I know if it's right or wrong. I might do it even if it's wrong but I won't do it out of whimsy. Chorgil makes his decisions as if he was dancing on air to some music only he can hear.'
'Capricious?'
'Not by design.'
'That sounds terribly unreliable.'
'It is. Dancers are attractive clowns. He's dangerous. He takes people up into the sky.'
'Oh. What then?'
'They come down.'

Correction - Nemesis Misidentified

2006-06-17T20:29:00.000+02:00

Recently I realized that this was not a turnip. It is a kohlrabi.

2006-06-17T20:24:00.000+02:00

'I adore me' she cooed lovingly.

2006-06-17T19:32:00.000+02:00

I'd reread Steven King's book On Writing. It's good stuff. Unfortunately, I actually understood it.
I have already written 69,800 words out of a planned 70,000, my latest novel. Most of it is not in accordance with the principles of King's book.
Those are good principles - for example, verb abrogation should be kept to a minimum. No 'cooed lovingly'. Ever.
It should say ''I adore me,' she said.' It should never-ever say 'cooed lovingly.'
Unfortunately the flavor of the nearly finished book demands 'cooed lovingly'; but - and here is the big problem - I already started something new that sounds really, really, really damned good and it is written the RIGHT way. It makes all the rest of my stuff sound like absolute crap. Now every time I pull up the nearly-done manuscript of the other novel I just want to delete like a sonofabitch..
I also have a plot problem. Now I don't worry about plot until I am nearing the end of my alloted word-length, but I got there so...
The problem is that I don't have an ending. I can't think of one. I believe in just writing down what the characters act out on the stage of my imagination but the characters are not cooperating. They just want to live their quiet lives and fornicate. That is not a frigging ending.
I know - just write that, that is true, that is what you're supposed to do. Write the truth, always. It is the hallmark of good writing. Don't force a character to do something that they don't want to do simply because you want a fucking plot. I know this.
In truth I am thinking of cheating because I want to write the new book and this one is in the way.

Update at 11

2006-06-09T19:20:00.000+02:00

I waited 2.5 hours until the dentist deigned to see me.

'Your tooth slipped off.'
Shaking head: 'Not exactly. The peg broke. I mean, here it is.' (handing over turnip-mined treasure)
All blood draining from his face (seriously): 'Oh no! You see, this is a custom designed zirconium peg. I can't use metal in your head.'

(He is right about that. This is because I am constantly on the run from Magneto. If I allowed a crown that contained metal, I would be pretty much at his mercy. This reminds me: none of the soldiers in X-men 3 had ANY dental work that contained metal. Because if they did, Magneto would have killed them like THAT).
'No, you can't use metal in my head,' I agreed. 'Temporarily it's okay though.'
'Would it be okay if you walked around without your tooth for a while?'
'Ugh... What do you mean 'for a while''?
'You're here for good, right? You're not going back to America?'
'Oh. For a WHILE??? Yeah, I'm here for good.'
'Oh good then.'
'Uhm... so I need a new crown?'
'Yes, we have to redo the whole thing.'
'Brilliant. Brilliant. So what if I have a date?'
He looks at me. I can tell he feels sorry for me.
'We'll put the tooth back in using a metal peg, temporarily. And we will take an imprint early next week and then get a new one of everything.'
'Thank you so much.'

So now I have my old tooth back in. I have express orders not to bite into anything dense. Particularly turnips.

p.s.: I know zirconium is a metal. It can't be manipulated by Magneto, however, so keep your snide comments to... oh shit. I just looked it up on Wikipedia:
Zirconium zinc alloy becomes magnetic at temperatures below 35 K. Oxidation states of zirconium include +4, although +3 and +2 can be obtained.
Fine, fine, so I've been at Magneto's mercy all this time. I hate you.

Introduction: The Nemesis (a.k.a the Turnip)

2006-06-08T09:04:00.000+02:00

Yesterday I decided to eat only root vegetables. I included apples too because they are sort of dense and rootlike if you close your eyes and imagine some fiber.

I obtained 2 (two) turnips, a bunch of carrots and 4 (four) apples, for sustenance. Also bought a bottle of spring water.

Then I went to see my father play chess in his old person's chess club. They watched me suspiciously as I produced the first carrot and began to chomp on it. I offered people carrots but they just sort of looked freaked out.

Then I went home. I was starving so I pulled forth the first turnip (Nemesis) and bit into it.

I am a fan of turnips. They are tasty and dense.

Unfortunately, I broke my tooth (the crown peg thingie broke). I felt a yawning void open up in my gums, a ventilated, unwelcome sensation. I had to mine the turnip to recover the fake tooth (crown).

Now there is a cavernous hole in my mouth. My dentist is one of those Very Good Dentists - if you call him for an appointment Time is viewed on geological scales. So what I will do is actually GO there and make hideous mewling noises like a cat that has been stepped on. Report at 11 (eleven).

Clever Boy

2006-06-04T09:52:00.000+02:00

I was walking uphill on this long set of stairs to the castle (there is a castle on the Buda side, it's rather pretty) when a dog (the kind of dog on the picture) appears at the top of the stairs. He is alone, wearing a red collar (ok, could be a she, didn't look for a penis). Anyway, I stare at him, because he is CARRYING A LETTER IN HIS MOUTH. I can make out two stamps, it is addressed to someone and it is NOT junkmail.

The dog has this exceptionally purposeful stride to him. He looks at me and trots past.

At this point I had already come to a screeching halt and staring at the beast.

He veered to the left (a small bit of weed infested lawn) and dropped the letter. He looked at me; no - he MEASURED me.
Obviously I was found wanting because WHILE HE WAS WATCHING ME he scooted over the letter and took a monstrous, light-brown shit all over it.

I can't make something like this up.

Two Minnesota Vikings plead guilty to misdemeanor charges on the party boat... blah blah...

2006-05-27T08:38:00.000+02:00

Wow. I mean, that had to be a hell of a party.

'Smoot was charged with using a sex toy on two female dancers in front of crew members during the cruise on Lake Minnetonka on Oct. 5. McKinnie had been accused of performing oral sex on a dancer in a public area of the boat. '

!

My only questions are these: who was offended by this? Why did they file a complaint? Why did the prosecutor run with it?

This reminds me of a case where this guy got an attack of conscience and turned over all this priceless archeological pottery to the government instead of selling it on the black market. Result: imbecile was CHARGED with a federal crime and he is now sitting in jail.

Why? Because it was a slam-dunk case for a 27 year old prosecutor with a tiny dick and an inflated ego. Because for people like that there is no such a thing as prosecutorial discretion.

These two cases, appearing slightly unrelated, have one thing in common:

Now I must buy my illicit sex and ancient pottery in secret. I can never have an attack of conscience and send flowers and candy to the stripper I used a sex toy on to the limit of human endurance, or hand over the Maya clay tablet depicting the alien landing of 344AD in the Yucatan peninsula - all because I would be arrested and thrown in the dungeons.

The Man from Madras

2006-05-25T15:18:00.000+02:00

He walks among us. He has rusty eyes and a candid manner. Defenses? Tic-tacs, orbiting his head. They intercept incoming projectiles.

I ask you this: what is his purpose? what is his mission in life?

Found a stick by the house of my second cousin. It came from a walnut tree, the skin is a reddish-dark brown. I took it home. They questioned me. 'What are you doing with that stick?'
'I like it.'
'You could make a pretty neat hatrack out of it.'
'I just like the stick. It's a magic wand!' (pointing at various objects, making boom-boom sounds).
'How old are you...?'
'35. Turning 36 in July.'
'You were a lawyer, right...?'
'Yeah, sure was!'

Unrelated conversation from the other day:
'I can't believe you were a lawyer.'
'Hmm. This seems to be a reoccurring theme. I really like the movie Flash Gordon.'

The A-Team, Riptide, Remington Steele

2006-05-25T13:44:00.001+02:00

I explained the ladder theory http://www.intellectualwhores.com/construction.html to Todd and Ferenc and they stared at me like I was some kind of an alien.
'Dude, I bet you money that it was some American who came up with that,' said Todd. 'Here it's completely different.'
'What do you mean?' I asked, curious. I was really pleased when I found the ladder theory, thinking (such vain, foolish hope) that I now had the potential to understand Woman.
'Women here, the way you pick up a woman (we were a couple of beers into the night by this time), is, well, you say: 'How about it?'
She might say no. Then you say: 'How about it?'
'Really?'
'Then you say it again. Normally, back in the states, that would be the end of it. Here, they eventually just give in.'
'What?'
'Yup,' said Ferenc. 'You just keep going for it. If you don't, they just write you off here. I knew this guy who took a Hungarian girl out to dinner and didn't try anything afterwards and she totally wrote him off as a pussy.'
'Is that so?'
'Oh yeah. They don't want to be treated like a porcelain doll.'
'So there is no friendship ladder?'
'Not really. Not here. Here people just stand in line and crawl over the mounds of dead boyfriends. There is someone standing in line right behind you, waiting for you fall by the wayside.'

We had some beers. Then we went to Ferenc's place to hang out and he he gave me a DVD of Flash Gordon. The greatest intro of all time:
(Ming): 'Who are you?'
(Flash, obviously): 'Flash Gordon! Quarterback, New York Jets!'
I mean, this dialogue is scintillating.

There was a really hot girl working the counter (I don't mean a working girl, I mean she was serving drinks and picking up beer glasses and wiping the counter). I was too shy to say stuff other than engage in low-level flirting but Todd cornered her (applying the Hungarian Rules) and immediately told her that I thought she was the second coming of Denise Richards. Then she stared at him and told him that (1) she already knew I was interested (2) smiled at me (3) left after I stared at her for a full 4 seconds in silent shock.

I got my first literary rejection. Not too shattered about it; they get 200 manuscripts a week and in retrospect my query letter SUCKED. So I'd redone it... (Flash Gordon is not involved, although I had thought about it). My primary problem is that I had come to the realization that the genre of the book is Magic Realism meets Noir meets ... horror? Not entirely sure. This stuff is hard to pigeonhole. Publishers don't know what to do with it. It either makes a lot of dough or none at all.

I will endeavour to write more, by the way. I appreciate all the people who have come to read my stuff, including the people with the mean comments saying that the blog totally blows since my relationship ended. It's interesting how people assume that the lack of content is somehow related to the end of my relationship. It isn't...

I found a fabulous chyropractor who is making huge headway in the treatment of my neck problems. She is moderately attractive which makes me nervous, because she is doing all this shit to me while I am wearing nothing but a pair of boxershorts and I just know, I simply just know, that one day I will have a monstrous erection while she is shoving my spine into place.

I love you all!

2006-05-18T09:33:00.000+02:00

http://msnbc.msn.com/id/12837988/?GT1=8199
http://www.solstation.com/stars2/hd69830.htm

!!!

Mr. Fox and Rabbit - New Part 1

2006-04-12T15:53:00.000+02:00

"I feel like I am sinking into sand," said Mr. Fox. He raised the bottle of wine and drank (again).
"That's because you are an alcoholic," said Rabbit, morosely. "It also doesn't help that you fall in love at the drop of a hat."
"No, that's you," muttered Mr. Fox.
"That's just lust. You are the serial monogamist."
Mr. Fox sighed and raised the bottle towards the window, seeing the black turn to scarlet. "It took a lot of courage to say something that true," he said. "I'd lost my way."
"So what're you gonna do?"
Mr. Fox shrugged. He struggled within the sugarcoated jacket. "I covered everything up with veneer. I can't feel much like this. I also wrote too much out of me in the Magpie book. I am not sure how much of me there is left." He began to peel the jacket off in little painful strips.
"What are you doing?"
"I am missing me," said Mr. Fox. "I apologize to everyone for being someone else. You see, I'm afraid. I'm afraid of a lot of things, but most of all I'm afraid of not being real. I want to know what there is underneath the veneer, even after the love and the fear of death is stripped away."
"Oh, I understand. You are afraid that you strip it away and all you'll find will be..."
"You," said Mr. Fox, nodding.

A real entry

2006-04-12T15:40:00.000+02:00

Maybe Kellie is right.
For a long time I stopped using the blog now as I originally used it, which was mainly as my confessional. I shoved my fears and my emotions out into the open and I derived strength from the few comments that I got. I shall not

I guess the reason for this change was that I shared the URL with my ex girlfriend and I had to censor myself. We are not dating anymore so that's no longer a constraint, still, there are other reasons.

I had no hope when I wrote the first few months worth of entries. I thought I was dying and I felt exiled, friendless. I was still in love, hopelessly.

I am not in love anymore and I no longer think I'm dying. Maybe that's why the entries became stale. Thank you Kellie. Sometimes it is necessary to be told to one's face when one has lost his way. I will consider very carefully what it is that I wish to do with this blog, if anything. Sometimes I feel like I am going through the motions without actually dipping into the well.

Cut Scenes from Revenge of the Sith

2006-04-11T22:49:00.000+02:00

I just watched this movie twice (using it as background while I do something else) and I keep thinking of parts that were not included. For instance: there is not a single scene where nourishment is consumed or expelled. I can totally see the Emperor taking a big, evil dump, groaning, using the dark side of the force to break up his nearly constant constipation. Also, his plans for Yoda indubitably included butter - Yoda is a frog, a tasty frog, a LARGE tasty frog. Like Gargamel vs the Smurfs, the Emperor would have been gaga over some steamed Yoda.

Good - Draft 2

2006-04-11T22:31:00.000+02:00

pizza, beer,
stream of soft clicky bike,
girls, the sun at high night.
rays of green sea light,
cones of champagne fizzle.

decayed buildings, gargoyles,
black wine, books, a fire, on water.
flames of a soft blue torch, chunk of smooth cool hot night.

tales, magic,
thickets so deep the hidden is real,
blue wings, blue eyes, gold so yellow it's cheese.

2006-04-11T21:45:00.000+02:00

When Smokey sings

2006-04-07T20:44:00.000+02:00

I hear violins.

long roads the sword of fury craves,
hard walls it builds around the soft,

farslayer howls acrosss the world,

shards of vivid primary colors, shattered on a parsnip,
god.

It's been a long time, a long time, she said - corrosive, mangled and skewed.
so I draw.

It's simply time.

A fantasy novel

2006-04-07T18:42:00.000+02:00

Ok, we've covered erotica and psychodrama...
Fantasy, we haven't done that yet, at least not in a publishable form.

There are problems with the idea though.
First off, nobody in their right mind buys a 100000 word fantasy novel. They want a trilogy at a minimum (barebones that's 300000 words) - I simply don't have that kind of time or perseverance. I mean, it took me 8 months to write the psychodramahorror and that was only 100000 words (ok, 102k, but hey).

I also don't have the knowledge base. I can write freaky dialogue and come up magic items, sure... even relics, religions, cities, histories, mythologies, weather, climate, and odd looking animals. However I have no idea about how things work - take horseback riding. I know what a gelding is, but that's about it... Saddle, bit and bridle, blah blah blah... I can't really look this up on Wikipedia and sound like I know what I'm talking about...

So I will walk you through this concept to test the waters, so to speak:
No horses (I guess there can be some kind of hoof and mouth disease epidemic... takes less time to research than the whole horseback riding crap).
War (I hate non-dynamic universes).
Magic but very few magic-users.
Non-static, devolving world. Elves... but fucked up, weird elves. There will only be about 6 of them (combined in the whole race).

I am thinking Elric of Melnibone meets... uhm.... A Bridge Too Far.
I guess.

The Best Cartoons!

2006-04-05T08:57:00.000+02:00

Aqua Teen Hunger Force
Dexter's Laboratory
The Powerpuff Girls

Uhmmm....

Twin Dolls Part II
SpongeBob Squarepants
Totally Spies - I confess that I actually like this. I know this marks me as someone with issues (like you didn't know this already ( if you are reading this...)) but here it is.
Bugs Bunny
Macskajaj - this is a Hungarian animated movie... It's awesome! I think if you Google it you can find it.

A rose, a rose, a rose

2006-04-04T10:34:00.000+02:00

Budapest, or the Second Coming of Venice

2006-04-04T08:46:00.000+02:00

The Danube is flooding... It's unbelievable.

Mail THIS

2006-04-03T14:36:00.000+02:00

I wish I had a digital camera. Finally mailed the query letter, synopsis and first 52 pages of my psychothriller horror novel to my hoped-for literary agent in California. Let me tell you, the envelope was dripping in the coolest stamps on Earth. There were these huge things that were paintings and lots of other stamps too... It looked awesome.

Typically, I sent it to the most highly respected agent on the planet. Pig doesn't mess around with anything but the best. Her agency accepts 2% of submissions. Could I have revised the book to be better? Yes. I could have. But I am tired of working on it, truth be told. It's been 8 months of work (although not every single day). I just want to go to New Zealand and eat mutton, wash it down with a pitcher of harsh green Sauvignon Blanc and watch the sun rise.

I'll be back later, I have to recover my phone (I left it at the business card place). This is the second time I lost my phone over the past three weeks.

Good

2006-04-01T14:40:00.000+02:00

pizza, beer, riding a bike,
pretty girls, the sun, but not in the sky:
sunlight in green sea, crystal spears of bright.

decaying buildings, gargoyles,
smoking black wine, dusty books, a fire, but not on the ground:
flames of a torch, forgotten dark on bold hot night.

tales, magic, thickets so deep the hidden is a promise,
blue wings, blue eyes, gold so yellow it's cheese.

Mr. Fox and Rabbit - I am hung over - don't ask what number I'm on

2006-04-01T14:35:00.000+02:00

“How should I put this,” began Rabbit.
“Contract scurvy. Worked for me,” suggested Mr. Fox. He was nearly done with the dessert.
Rabbit’s ears twirled around one another, forming a scepter of uncooked gristle. “I know we are standing before the palace of cheese; nevertheless, I vote for becoming a shoe designer for Prada.”
“You’re only saying this because you have a shoe fetish,” growled Dr. Bear. “And because I ate all the berries.”
“Fair enough,” sighed Rabbit, examining this web site: http://www.orientvisual.com/6inchforever/frames.htm
“I have decided to go on a really cool bike tour tomorrow.” He finally said it, the statement accentuated by a violent nasal twitch.
Dr. Bear raised a paw. “I can ride a bike.”
“A unicycle.”
“As long as you wear the hat and the… what do you call it… the nose.”
“Yes, the big red nose.”
“I finished my book,” said Mr. Fox, selfishly monopolizing the remnants of the conversation. “The one about the psychotic chick and the magpies.”
“In the expanded Star Wars universe there is an Imperial Remnant,” said Dr. Bear helpfully.
“So?” smirked Rabbit. “I finished my book a year ago.”
“Yeah… That one is an all time classic. Will it be marketed in the back rooms of video stores, wrapped in shiny black plastic?”
“I don’t really know,” said Rabbit, uncomfortable. “But I know that they photoshopped the cover image. I’m a touch nervous about it, truth be told...”
“Dr. Bear, what’s your book gonna be on?”
“I think… I will write about Protein Mining.”

So hot, I wanna ride her all day

2006-04-01T14:16:00.000+02:00

Yessss.... Here she is:

2006-03-29T19:59:00.000+02:00

Sometimes I get a reminder from out of nowhere that I am fortunate. Perhaps I whine for no reason.
My cousin’s boyfriend called; he passed the phone to his colleague, a man in his forties. He wanted to talk to me because his daughter just went through her second brain surgery. She had Astrocytoma too. She had two brain tumors.
‘Is there something that you think might help?’ he asked.
‘Well,’ I said. ‘Once she recovers, take her to a psychologist. The fear of death…’ I babbled on.
‘I just want to make sure you understand that she is only 15. Just to put it into context…’ he said.
Still, I babbled on. Then it dawned on me. He called because I was the boy who lived.
‘How is she?’ I asked.
He sighed. ‘She was ok after the first surgery. It was a 7 centimeter diameter tumor. It came out nice and clean and we were pleased. Then in a few weeks they’d discovered the second one, only 2 cms in diameter. They took that out and now she is partially paralyzed on her right side.’
‘I see,’ I said. ‘Well… The shrink is important. And I am at your disposal if you think talking to her might help. I hope she’ll fully recover.’
‘That’s what we’re hoping now too,’ he said.

Fred Saberhagen’s Book of Lost Swords is a great series. My favorites are: Coinspinner, Wayfinder, Woundhealer, Sightblinder. I also liked the Mindsword – nuts!
I am rereading Fafhrd and the Grey Mouser. I really like it.
Buying a bike… Maybe the day after tomorrow. A cyclocross.

I’m avoiding the topic… All right. I’m single again. I can’t really talk about it. I don’t think I should talk about it. Maybe sometime in the future I might bring it up. For now I don’t want to stir up the why, the what, the when. It’s difficult, it’s painful. I can’t even bring myself to answer a text message.
There was no one else – I guess it was not meant to be. I’m not being flippant, btw.

Provisionally sold my third novel. It’s another book of unadulterated filth. No aphrodisiac substances though, and no nuns. I really ought to get an agent. I mean, no nuns.
Bought a bike. It's awesome!

insipid beast!

2006-02-25T13:42:00.000+01:00

I did not die or nuttin', I just went to Austria for a week, to ski, with 56 college students. When I get some of the pictures I will write a big fat post. For now, just envy me.

US to resume weapon shipments to Iran

2006-02-12T11:34:00.000+01:00

Church of Ham

2006-02-12T11:01:00.000+01:00

Bored out of my mind I ran a Google search for 'sonka'. In Hungarian, sonka means ham.

Southwest Ohio Northern Kentucky Association (SONKA)
Ohio Conference United Church of Christ.

I wonder if they know they are a Church of Ham.

On my island kingdom,

2006-02-12T10:20:00.000+01:00

I will have a flock of raven friends. We will hang out in the evening and have pleasant cups of steaming hot tea, Darjeeling. Once in a while the boys will come by for beer (the Platypi).

Egyptologists

2006-02-10T18:31:00.000+01:00

I love Egyptologists.
I love them because they are socially inept academics who are simply incapable of dealing with the media spotlight.
I like people like that.

The valley of the kings - I still think they will unearth some mummy housing some freakazoid virus which will wipe everyone out (except for a small band of people including me and 22 vixens of my choice).

I am angry about the Danish cartoons because they are INCOMPLETE. They didn't address the fact that Mohammed simply COULDN'T TAKE A FUCKING JOKE.
Get over it, people. It's a cartoon!!! I hate censorship - the only thing I hate more than conventional censorship is SELF censorship.

ARAB CABDRIVER: U IZ DISRESPEKTING ME, MAN, WITH KARTOON SHOWIN' MY MAN MOHAMMED.
TWP: FUCK YOU.

University of Memphis found a bunch of mummies... Nifty. I am waiting for some utterly absurd archeological find, like some inexplicable runestones or a jade monkey hovering on thin air. Big bloody deal, a couple of mummies. How about some exciting shards of pottery! Wow!

I wish I lived in the distant past - I would have made up perplexing meaningless drawings to puzzle future archeologists. Enormous, winged pigs carved into rocks, performing medical research and building ships, carbon dated to 12000 BC.

Why do I like this name: 'Frank Rappaport'? Why?

AA

2006-02-02T08:17:00.000+01:00

I hate, I hate, I hate
Adobe Acrobat.

No, I do not create documents using Adobe Acrobat. However, when I click on an URL, I do NOT want to see an Adobe Acrobat document. No, I do not want to UPDATE my software. No, I do not want to WAIT so I can see 21342 pages of CRAP.

When I become Tyrant I will DESTROY Adobe Acrobat.

Now I want to talk about Democracy.

"We support free elections and we come in our panties thinking about the collective will of the people blah blah blah. That is, assuming, that the victors of said election AGREE with us. Cause' if they don't, they are TERRORISTS."
"So... you don't actually support demo..." (secret service agents drag reporter away)
"Now that the TERRORIST SYMPATHIZER has been neutralized and taken to Cuba, we can discuss how great we are."

Oh yeah - only we and our trusty allies can have Nukes. Because others should not have nukes. They should not have Nukes because they are IRRESPONSIBLE WARMONGERS. If they had nukes, they might think they can start wars willy-nilly with impunity.

Democracy is great. It is great because people in office as a matter of general principle must ignore the long-term interests of the people, because people in general are retarded morons who can't see past their paycheck and the light beer/chickenwings/Everclear/porn it potentially keeps them supplied with.

So: I think it's HIGH TIME for TWP tyranny. I will NOT be an enlightened despot. I will have an army of hot babes in sleek curve-hugging uniforms wearing stiletto heels. I will also fund genetic engineering research to create Smurfs. Yes, they have to be blue. Yes, there can only be ONE female. Yes, they have to be 4 inches tall.

More rough poetry

2006-01-29T21:55:00.000+01:00

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?

2006-01-28T18:43:00.000+01:00

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

2006-01-28T12:48:00.000+01:00

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

2006-01-28T12:21:00.000+01:00

"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!

2006-01-28T09:24:00.000+01:00

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

2006-01-27T14:52:00.000+01:00

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

2006-01-25T20:55:00.000+01:00

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

2006-01-23T19:10:00.000+01:00

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

2006-01-20T11:26:00.000+01:00

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

2006-01-16T14:08:00.000+01:00

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

2006-01-11T12:22:00.000+01:00

"...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

2006-01-11T00:35:00.000+01:00

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.

2006-01-07T09:10:00.000+01:00

The Worst Porn Ever

2006-01-04T17:53:00.000+01:00

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

2006-01-04T16:21:00.000+01:00

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!

GI Joe

2005-12-31T08:21:00.000+01:00

These things are too funny.

http://www.ebaumsworld.com/gijoe-firealarm.html

Mr. Fox and Rabbit - The War

2005-12-30T20:10:00.000+01:00

"There was a time when I would have given my life to feel the pain of fire," said Mr. Fox, staring straight ahead. "It wasn't that long ago."
Rabbit nodded. "I remember. Damn funny you looked, all singed."
"Now... now it's different."
"I have this piece of wood," said Dr. Bear in a rumbling, confused voice. "I cut it from a long piece and now it's short. It's shorter..." he trailed off.
"Where... where exactly are we?" said Mr. Fox, looking around with barely disguised curiosity.
"We are floating," said Rabbit, his ears perfectly horizontal and trembling.
"I don't like to float," said Dr. Bear. "I don't understand it."
Rabbit slapped Dr. Bear on the back. He grinned outward, at you.
"You don't understand it either." It wasn't a question.
"Deep in the well, where the space is endless," began Mr. Fox.
"That has a familiar ring to it," whispered Rabbit.
"Roaring arcs of blue flame erupt from my shoulders, endless bursts, explosions," said Mr. Fox. As he said each word it became thus.
"flickers of supernovas, blazing ruptures through the whirlwind of silver feathers
glowing incandescent white,"
Rabbit shielded his eyes with a furry paw. He squinted at the blazing canine (he determined to look up foxes on the internet - are foxes canines?).
"Blinding azure arcs erupt with each heartbeat, shoulderblade swords,
flicker blasts through the cloud of silver feathers.
They turn white hot and sink into those arcs,
Painful splinter gifts from God."
"You just had to bring God up, didn't you," said Rabbit, definitely resentful. "Why?"
Slowly, the silver feathers faded and they slowed their blazing dance. One by one, they fell away into oblivion. As they dropped away the light died with them.
"It's not that the feathers are falling," said Mr. Fox. "It's that they are falling faster than we are."
"We are falling?"
"Or floating. It's all relative."