Texts To Texts Enjoy

TEXTS TO TEXTS ENJOY

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B.S. Szucs

TEXTS TO TEXTS ENJOY

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B.S. Szucs

Published by BaSe Art and Photography First published in 2013 Copyright Š B.S. SzŹcs All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrival system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of the copyright owner.

ISBN 9789082058208 Printed and bound somewhere

A!

W

ell, here I am, sitting in the kiddie pool at the sports center. Figured, if I can’t write while sitting at the bottom of the big boys pool I might do that while sitting in here. Fuck, I’m an idiot. Got myself, once again, in a financial situation that steams near unsolvable through honest means. It is even so bad that I have sent out a resume to good ol’ McDonald and his farm.

I figured that should have been the normal way to start out, right?

So, it seems I even have some babes joining me in the pool now.

Both at the eager age that must be 10. Now all I am missing is a glass of bourbon. But soon, I will go home. Make something edible out of the potatoes in the closet. One day I will create an ode to those damned tatters. The chicks have exchanged themselves for a higher class ware. Now I have two top range six year olds frolicking around. They will also leave soon and all that will remain will be my non-existing whiskey, the brainstorm about tatters and soaking like a pickle in the kiddie pool. ***

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Whaddayafackamacouldagonacallthisshitta

I

weep for the next generation. We went for a beer and such, to get together with more people on the go. With the first stop at our friendly ever present neighboring pub, where we found a barmaid hornier than …. oh well, I don’t know... she was just flowing al over the pool table. We scrambled in quite a haste, mostly so that we wouldn’t laugh our asses off in muteness, secondly to protect the innocence of one among us against the horny.

Off we were, down to the next watering hole: the pop-o-matic.

With the only excuse to be, meet a few more. We ran through the ticketing and scored our, once again, first beer. The high table offered its self as a safe heaven, just in front of, or behind, the “crowd”. Like this we could see what we were up against.

It didn’t take long before one of us had to say it. Did the vibe change, were we hanging around for too long {already}? Was it just the crowd of that night? We felt old.

The disturbing thing about this is, that we were all in the lower 20 and the youngsters around us were maybe 4-5 years younger than we were, tops. But nevertheless, what we saw was still innocent at hearth.

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Most of these faces have never seen the bellows of a drinking frenzy. Have never been to bed with the intention to really play.

Have never stolen a bike for survival or climbed a forbidden wall.

Not that we would like to advocate the freak side of life. But still, it gives some experience to stroll through the mud once in a while. Something to fall back on if the first big stupor passes you by on the street. Or is the world beginning to favor the more innocent among us? ***

Barn swallow milk

I

’m not a smoker, but this was comfortably needed. Even if it didn’t do anything, no godly catharsis as a symbol for my departure. As a matter of fact it didn’t last very long either. Not that it matters, it suffices for what it is. I have no beer or anything else on me. Just a shot of Unicum, but that I can’t manage. Only a glass of gold and goat-horned barn swallow milk could give the... right punch to end it right. Nothing wrong with that. We leave and that’s it. As if the movement of our mass didn’t happen. Or a mass just did happen and we are still sitting in the row of benches, flabbergasted, waiting for the blessing of our favorite clergyman.

But even the incense has been burned up and the spiders are back to repair their webs that have been wiped from the faces of the old fresco’s. We won’t have to celebrate before tomorrow. Down a couple of beers while the furniture move them selves into their homecoming corners, and the auxiliary verb where it wants to.

Life burps once more and some other clichés come around. Eat banana and you will see better, or just carrots. ***

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Spicy Delight

L

ately, for a couple of years now, I got hooked on a bit more spicy world of tastes. This, as we know is all well and nice, especially if we consider my well trained intestinal flora. Still, one perverse delight of this is when for a time not. To be more precise, when after not comes the few days of yes. Readjusting to those tastes. Happily welcoming the Tabasco and Red Gold. But this is just one part of it, since we don’t always dine alone. Even when more often than...oh, skip this jabber. To share the joy of new combinations in flavors in discovery. To ripen the experiences that we neglected with the wind of change. Then the big moment comes and the primrose blooms again. Sitting above the water while the scolding frostbite is all that remains behind my excrements. Have an enjoyable evening. ***

Old man on the subway

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ld man is sitting in the crowd. On his blue denim bag, which he rests in his lap, he is solving crossword puzzles. From the „Fülles” or something else that is actual. Small sphere in the crowd, as his neighbor is following his ever moving, almost never halting stream of letters in the rubrics. Sun browned skin, or is this just the green from the subway. He is looking for an other page, or just the solution? A moment ago he looked at me. As I am keeping my focus on him, but without sharing a glance. The crowd is changing. The neighbor is switching back and forth between

the lettered rows and my hands writing these lines. He found the solution, or just a fresh start? He scans the surroundings for a second. Are we there yet? Grey eyebrows under his black hat. Under his down-folded chin the blue symmetry of his coat. He stands up. Wobbles away. Gets off. Crosswords in his hands, blue denim bag hanging from his shoulders. Backpack behind him. I will go for another stop. ***

Last Night – or it’s cold

I

t’s cold up here. Two in the night with five more to go before I want to get out. Or maybe sit. But I am lying in so and can’ manage to fall asleep. Yeah, it’s fucking cold up here. Now I am writing here wearing a sweater and socks with my leather jacket on top of my blanket in the hope that it will be enough. But I doubt it.

Anxiety with nothing to calm me the hell down, or for the same matter to keep me really going. Limbo is the shit. Brain dead ideas to think about. I feel somewhat hungry. Besides this I have the grave urge to build a large format camera from scratch. Something has happened here. Overload the fuckers and see the pig blow up. Like tomatoes in a pan. Sexual convenience store. I’m addicted to nonsensical bullshit and know this damned well. It’s worse than that of alcohol or whatever drugs may lead to. Instead of trying to work for a healthy dependency, it just immobilizes.

Damn, should I light up a smoke?

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Laying on my bed, flat on my back and staring at the ceiling while the gray smoke thrill’s up in the air. The camera zooms in on me as I lay bare chested with the cigarette in my hand next to my lover. The soundtrack begins to play and I exhale. The pockets of my jacket are full, weighting it down. Even after I removed the empty scotch bottle from one side. I’m all trough. Found some change in my wallet. Hardly enough for four beers tomorrow, or a bottle of wine that I hardly will notice before it’s gone. Already dreading tomorrow night. Maybe I shouldn’t even stay. Can always go round in the morning to pick the rest of my furniture up. Cabbages. It would be nice to have someone to lay next to right now, preferably one that isn’t a blanket around me that still did not become a heating element. Possibly in her bed and not here. Mine would be the same as now, except that one person would be sleeping. Who I could not disturb by agonizing over silly stuff like this. But in the end, it wouldn’t matter. Because tomato. Tomatoe. Knock yourself out on the diversity of this all. Tomorrow, actually today, I will get up. Try to find enough fitting clothes to wear under my work suit.

Take a hot shower and stand outside for seven or eight hours. Oh well, it pays a part of the bills at least, and the job is fun. Might even feed me at one point this month. But change has come, as well as the water next to my bed has gone. Let’s try to go out once again before I wake up today.

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***

“Leaving again... on the bus!”

A

fter missing my flight and a huge scramble through the financial system of the Hungarian “on the street” banking system we had to come to the conclusion that we were stuck for the moment...

In the end we managed to get hold of a ticket for an euro-lines ride all the way all to the fair city of Utrecht. We had to order it twice, almost trice. After our first encounter with the street banks called pedestrians we now encountered Internet banking. But luckily we could get customer service at 9 in the evening. But we got the ticket in the end, a quick one too. Just a 21:30 hours ride.

Oh, we don’t want to go back. But nevertheless, we are a few days further. I finished up and packed the last of the things. And we made it! Even though we almost lost the ticket in the final seconds. Naturally it was just a few meters back laying on the pavement. So no problem there. But one thing more grave was the fact that we didn’t have any beer. No Beer. We had some sweets and stuff, but no Beer. It is Friday...Budapest...180 HUF for a keg...and I wanted a beer before leaving. But nevertheless, we were standing there at the check in with just 15 minutes to spare and a hell of a Queue. Apparently the line that was reserved for my ride was hidden behind a pillar without clear markings. Screw it, we got the check in card and scurried over to the bus, after losing and finding my ticket on that fifthy meter walk. Six minutes before take off...

My big bag was fed in to the belly of the white whale. I climbed aboard and sat my ass down next to a sympathetic window. As we rode through Budapest to get to the highway, I once again realized

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how much I love this city...and that it really has some fine ladies in there. So after this emotional farewell my attention went back to the stand-up comedy that was buzzing in my ears. And oh for fucks sake, there is still 21:20 hours to go!

“Győr – First stop.” {I wanted to put a (period) there for some reasons}

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At this point I realized that just a few days ago I already ended up here in the middle of the night. At that time I had no idea where we were exactly, just that we were not in the right direction, because the only one who knew the route was hanging on to that fence trying to puke. It seemed that they would fill the bus to the rim. But it also seems that everybody brought an entourage of fake passengers who stayed behind and walked away after a while.

But what is that...oh no, a mommy with two small girls did get on the bus. Do I have to pee? But I survived this round without gaining a neighbor. Once again the engine started roaring, or at least we went to a state of moving once again. The city is interesting though. Classicist buildings and heavy industrial vibe with a hint of urban decay. Worth returning to, as to so many things. After a bunch of jokes and scenarios further we neared the Final Hungarian stop – Moson - “10 minutes”. If nothing else, I managed to pick up a can. Arany Ászok. Beer. My final beer before crossing the border. It is Friday and we are leaving. Yeah, a guy needs his sentiments some times and while the sun started to set behind the beautiful scenery of high way traffic and windmills, I -shiss- my beer open and sat my self down on the curb. Golden state with the golden brew.

But time is up, so Bottoms Up! Good Bye and Love ya All! At 18:13 {day time not travel time} we arrived in Austria. This is not bad if you consider we left at 15:30 from Budapest. Oh crappadoodle, at least I’m getting some writing done. Speaking of that, let’s give you an account of what happened in the past few days, and especially the obscenity of Friday...

“On the Boat, or yacht if you please” The gig was up, the girls would arrive Thursday morning and the shoot would run from Friday till Sunday. We had a prep meeting a day in advance with the “organizers”. The plans apparently changed even before the hectic part began. So I spent the majority of that day waiting to plan everything out. The problem was that they had a business meeting on the side and that had a higher priority apparently. Luckily, I had a woman to keep me company. She worked for the shop I think, but we were the only company at the moment for each other. She had a daughter of 16 up somewhere.

But the funny thing is that by the end of the day I made her blush simply by a misplaced comment in a different conversation. But to not get to far adrift, after a while the meeting finally happened.

They came with the idea to go down to the Balaton lake and start with a photo shoot on a boat on Thursday. Great idea. It’s not that I’m not flexible, but it is an extra day and the girls arrive just a few hours before hand with the bus, from a far corner of Romania.

Oh, well. Ride out!

The boat was arranged by “teddy”. Or at least that was what his license plate said. Apparently he had a career in politics and law.

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Not that it does matter, he was a money man. He was one half of the organization, or at least as far as he was interested in it. But that isn’t of more importance right here than to sketch a scene.

So the girls arrived at 8 in the morning and I would be picked up at 10 in the center of Budapest. At that point it became apparent that the two girls multiplied. We had two girls in the back and in the rest of our convoy there were three more. This “convoy” consisted of us, a shabby little speedster with just 3 pistons working fully out of the four, “teddy” with a Mercedes and another in that range. As could have been expected, we fell behind so now and then with just an approximate idea where we had to be. The girls were actually not stressed about this, they were sleeping. Eighteen hours in a bus does tend to do that to you. At that same stop I became a shooter from New York with all the tinkers and bells that go with it. This was always the fun part of almost every job that I had, the sudden promotion that I make from a life-artist-photogartist-whatever-I-do that can be validated to a hot shot whatever they need.

“Back on the bus”

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Vienna – bus station of chaos. No room and a hell of a lot of buses pouring out their passengers who are switching between their rides with baggage. Turbulence. Oh, and on a side note, welcome back to Europe: 3,50 for a keg and 2,50 for a glass of beer. But at least I got my bill of 10 EUR changed by the toilet lady. After almost boarding the wrong bus {not that Paris isn’t nice} I conquered my own seat again. Even this brings back a memory, a

few years ago I traveled next to a Parisian artist who invited me to pay a visit...naturally this never happened. But back in reality, with this round I got a soap scented girl next to me. There goes the royal life of double seats as I just had figured out how to put myself comfy for sleep. Shucks, long live zé soap!

“And the harbor came in view” After bubbling down and finally arriving at the yacht club, with an emergency shopping tour for the lady’s who were in need of a couple of bikini’s, we boarded the boat. It was a nice sailboat, I believe about 15m long, maybe 17. Our captain was already waiting for us and within a couple of minutes we were off, and within a couple of minutes the first drink was served. Vodka-apple. But as we all know, apple juice is quite a rare commodity, so it was poured sparsely. Oh well, we are all sailors now. It also didn’t take them long to hassle me to work, couldn’t even finish my drink first...bloody sods. The girls also were changing into their swimsuits. The “rich” and enhanced were sitting back to drink. But there was a specialty among all of them. One of the girls didn’t came for the shoot, I still don’t know what her purpose originally was but she made a terrific assistant. Reflecting shades and modeling experience. This was a great gift when we had to start rolling. During the day, it was sunny and warm with harsh shadows everywhere, there was almost nothing possible without a reflector panel. Besides this, I’m not a “fashion model” shooter by nature so a little co-op was welcome. {on a side-note again, it was also a really nice surprise when she did ask if we could do a couple of tasteful topless photo’s of her, but more on that later}. With

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all this, we set out to the bow to get the shoot on the way. From the three girls, blonde-brown-black who were the stars of the show, we started out with blondie and so on. Trying out as much things as possible, backing them crisp with the reflector screens.

Switching them around, doing group shots and all that while I was sweating my balls off, because I was the only sucker who still didn’t wore swimming gear. Curse of the cargo pants, if you work in a situation where pockets are useful then they do tend to come along to a high degree. But let’s take a quick brake to put myself in some comfort by making the change. Our hosts were still drinking in a nice pace. Almost right after the anchor was thrown out, the reinforcement arrived in the form of a water bike stocked with booze. But back to work. The funny thing is, I was shooting girls in bikinis with a “khm” nice assistant twirling around me, who I shot topless so now and then through the day, but it didn’t record as anything sexual that I was just inches from. Is this part of my conditioning from the past years in the academy, or can I simply separate that what I am seeing in different times. Anyhow, we went on like that until the next big break. With that, I jumped in and went for a quick swim. For hell’s sake, I’m on a boat. I was done, for half an hour or so. But as I was sitting there at a certain moment with the girls sunbathing at the bow, suddenly a question came. “Do you suck?” Well, what do you do with a question like this. For me, it asked for clarification. But when I asked “depends what?” it caused a bit off uproar since they took it as an offense ,because “they don’t meddle with pity things like speed”. But the captain diffused the situation by taking me below deck, to the cabin where the girls had their dressing room. There was a bathroom with a “lockable” cabinet. Therein lay an aluminum plate with a

lump of cocaine on it. “This is fine stuff ” he explained and offered me a quick line. Oh what the fuck...let’s get this over with, a quick zip and get the hell out. After a few minutes my tongue went a little bit numb, but that was it. Went for a dip and got the remaining stuff out of my nose. After this episode, the realization came that they were snorting cocaine in the changing room, with the youngest girl on board just barely over sixteen. If their door was open the damp of it hung heavily over the complete cabin. Welcome to the real world me says. But this interlude didn’t matter, I came there to photograph the girls. It was also nice to be on a sailing boat after many a year. When the sun went down and we made the last shots in the twilight I grabbed my beer and went to sit at the point. The night breeze and nothing but water in front of me as we sailed slowly towards the dock. The drinking had asked his toll of almost every participant. For my self, I was also handed to occasional whiskey-cola/high quality rum/champagne or beer.

But, for those who have read more of me, or just simply know me, I can handle some liquor. But our driver was less fortunate {in one way or the other}. So after docking at ten in the evening, our hosts had driven off, leaving us with the three girls and an inebriated driver we had concluded that this was a quite a shitty situation we were in. For myself, I just had a faint idea how to get back to Budapest, the girls were totally lost and the only working GPS was locked away in the phone of our pilot {for witch he didn’t remember the unlock code}. The only piece of luck that we had, was that one of the girls had a drivers license. In the end, it took us 5 hours to get to Budapest. After getting lost in the fucking middle of nowhere, going through endless villages that were never quite in the right direction, just missing two deers on separate occa-

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sions and almost loading the drunk sob in the trunk of his own car after sitting for an hour next to the road while he was going to pieces, almost unable to puke while still not being able to mutter the magic code for the gps. So it is no wonder that one of the girls never showed up again. But in the end we made it and I came to a few conclusions. As far as I enjoy a lot of things (especially if I can get them free) I’m not a hedonist. Secondly that there are a lot of things that still have to experienced, but this did not came as a surprise. As a wise cashier lady said once: Don’t get surprised.

“To finish off the ride”

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We stopped again, this time at the wonderful rest stop of St. Valentine at 10’o clock. The ride is quite uneventful, soap girl was watching a show called “Judy by Design” or something like that as we had the odd glance at each other. Right now I’m sitting outside with a cheap 1.50 EUR gas station wine spritzer in my pocket.

This, while I’m starring at a miniature wooden chair that is just waiting next to the curb. An old man spotted it too, or at least acted on it. So it will find a new home. But did the rest of us just ignore it? It didn’t belong there on many levels, is that it? An other thing also didn’t quite belonged there were the busloads of people wandering aimlessly around in the parking lot. The bottle was genius. A deadbeat water-bottle containing a white wine spritzer for no money in facking awesome 5,5%. But i’m quite off right now, if nothing happens and the tension keeps growing the freaking out will grow further the spritzer is the rescue. The chair was awesome though.

With the buzz on, we ended up at another rest stop, are they slipping into each other? This was just ahead of Frankfurt, or so I was told. Fuck, it is still too far Away at 5 in the morning and delivery time by 13:00. At least I have a double seat once again. The soap girls has left me at Würzburg, or was it Nürnburg? After 4 hours of chatting about everything. From art to relationships and sex life. The works. It was nice and the force to talk was apparently greater {after many hours of not a word next to each other} than that of just shutting up for even a few minutes. Because how do you restart the conversation after that? The funny thing was really to share all of it and then just say goodbye with an awkward hand shake. But I got my double seat back after all. What will be a nice touch for the “morning” is the fact that an old “bitch” was audibly gossiping about a random other passenger who “sat on her face” while passing her in the corridor. Or the mad man just a an arm lengths away from my seats who already keeps flipping out and yammering in near indecipherable Germinglish about how he has no bandwidth on his phone and that he is an idiot because we couldn’t fix it, or something like that. Bad vibe factors. Ignore it and let’s huddle up and go back to sleep since Frankfurt is getting nearer. Oh, and we lost a Vietnamese guy a few hours earlier apparently. Yeah, the drivers also noticed this just now. No, she got off at Mahnfiel. We didn’t even stop in Nürnburg. But so we arrived at the last stop before I can get out of this tube on wheels.

Behind me the great comparison is being made between Hungary and all the wonders that they have in Dusseldorf. As with every sighting of a horse “Oh, they got horses in here” and the likes of that. Everything is explainable to the benefit of the other. “Have a

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better time in here” {sic}. “The nice thing about the long lines, you always find someone to enjoy yourself with...no, to talk to” {sic}.

Oh, and the little girls are still here and now awake. Wünderbar.

“Are we there yet?” “Where are we?” “We are the only ones left!”

Yeah, currently I do some whining but puff on it. Hehehehe, and the next stand-up sketch is about traveling! “Where we pay a lot of money to go to a place where the people there would also pay a lot of money to go where we came from.” Oh, we missed a turn so now we are backing up on the highway with a touring car, awesome. But that was the last excitement for this trip. We arrived a half an hour early. One final nod and off we were. Heading out for a four mile walk. That’s it. A twentyone hour bus trip. Done.

Gone. ***

Why am I good at talking politics?

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omewhere deep inside I’m a romantic soul. I like to submerge in experiences. Stop sometimes and just stare at what I live through as it is happening. The image of Kaspar-David’s wanderer who is looking at the valley is coming out of my nose by now though. You can get immersed in so much empathy, joy of watching a plastic bag that got picked up by the vortex of a city bus on the prowl. Sure, this can’t always keep anybody pinned down for hours, but as I’m looking out of the window in my predatory blue “more-than-four” wheeler, and into the kitchens of all the bypassing houses around dinner time a couple of tableau’s catch my eye. The only thing that makes this whole “thing” even more

enjoyable is that I have as much to do with my electoral district as an egg with an garlic press. They can be found in the same kitchen but for most part they only know each other by sight. This comes from the fact that my voting rights in The Netherlands are so expansive that they postponed the only one due to a lack of interest. So, my direct influence isn’t even worth forgetting. In the Hungarian land, well, “just visiting” would be a nice status for my native anomaly. Two years ago, I didn’t even have a tax-card. The only reason that I do own one is by accident. As for the rest of the world, they seem to do just fine without interacting with me.

But we got these two system in which, more precisely formulating that what I almost made too corny, I do live, on which I have no influence. Which also haven’t showed much affect on me, this is not necessarily true but a matter of perspectives, as almost everything is. Let’s talk a bit about the Cultural Currency Systems now. Or should we just try to figure out how to get the microwave working again. The left gap from the right, there is the cheese.

Listen to everybody independent from all of this. Ok, there are a couple of exceptions that I rather wouldn’t share with. But this is more due to life style or experiences than anything else. Right to left, liberal conservatives, atheist and priest, saints or convicts all the way to the deranged. Have to admit that in the last case, the free-range before the institutionalized can be found among my contacts. Who knows, maybe they say something interesting, something to think about, to nod to. The interesting part comes when the dices change and turn towards me. What are your opinions about the immigration laws? What will be dinner tonight?

That, I still have no clue about to this very day. I don’t want to run

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around the hot porridge, but for some people the news cast is a luxury item. Especially if I would like to know something about my survival rate for tomorrow. The mood is not that dramatic, mind you, but the idea is clear. Clear the table, wipe everything above this away and take a take on this. Isn’t it more interesting to look at these thing from a more philosophical viewpoint if we have this aberrated luxury well thank you very much. So, a round of beer for the table, mine is empty. Also my wallet. The Repo man is a nice guy, but sometimes he does figure out where I live. Black is also a nice not-colour at occasions, as soon as I will figure out how a tax form looks like. Nietzsche is dead, as the intellectual jokes proclaim. He is not the only one in line. Maybe we should read on a nice day what he has written exactly – whispers the Godly voice. And the romantic is phlegmatically in rage about why people still get surprised about how life goes. Yes, there is shit. There has been shit. Before now too. Let’s try and get on, with nice and selected profanity’s at the appropriate places, if needed with aim, as the hypocritical motivator is shouting in his dreams.

Yes, hypocrisy should not be forgotten if we are talking politics with a beer in our hands. How’s your mother? Did she get the chicken soup I sent her? Last time, a complete pineapple did the trick for me, after a day and a half I was fully functional again. *** 18

Packing There was a bra lying at my feet.

A black one, shiny black cup.

And even more were put in That plastic bag a few feet away.

But that was it, for the rest, All the clothing was in a trunk.

A woman was packing them.

Twisting and turning, Pivoting around a couple of certain axis’s.

The room was tied around her.

She had beautiful eyes.

Blue, shining.

There was nothing more sensual about her.

But the women moved like nobody was there.

I ate the orange slices.

They were given to me, to have something till the drinks were ready.

She was still moving, From notches and

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cracks in the room the final pieces were strung out and in to the packs.

Done, and the offered certain drink was also in a state of waiting.

The bag of bras were somewhere gone.

Within an hour, she was gone.

I have gotten one of her shinning eyes, And she was gone.

We went for a beer. ***

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t the second day that nobody was at home to answer the bell, a small hand of luck was handed down to me and I could sneak in to the building. Well, then I can just as well dunk the letter in his mailbox, the picture of them at her funeral. But it could in no way fit in the slot because it was chuck full of paper. With this, it started to become suspicious. Never in my days have I seen that mailbox full. Slowly, I ascended the stairs, just to check what was up. I didn’t want to acknowledge my fright. But suspicion can put a heavy note. At the windows of his apartment, under the closed and ragged drapes I found the flies. The disturbing thing was that it weren’t a few, but a thick black mark filling the ledge.

All dead. The same scene welcomed me at the kitchen window, with the only difference that there, the inner pane had one broken

glass tile.

Some grotesque reality had happened here, that was the only thing clear. And only after a frenzied hunt through the building was I able to learn what had happened. He died, rotted for weeks.

The police took him away eventually, just two or three days ago.

They had no records of a family, so he got filed away as „without relatives”.

He died alone, went to sleep in his armchair His heart stopped. ***

Suspension

H

ere we go, suddenly it came. The talk, message, calling, eating and preparing before it didn’t matter anymore. I saw the piece of metal beforehand; it was a hollow tube, with one end ground in half and sharpened.

Three...two...onepush...

ok here we go Three...two...onepush 21

That was one half and wait... ok

Three...two...onepush and Three two onepush ...

Deam, I lost the focus, but it is through... All four of them I sugar-cube

need

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And in a few moments the world will stop getting fuzzy and my chemical levels will return to normal. Until then, let’s get used to this feeling, I can move freely, even lift my arms up. But the tension rises then. And not to speak of the clattering of the rings at the end, behind my back.

It’s going to be cold outside.

Okay... I think I am ready for this...

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Stepping outside, getting rigged up, trying the tension and putting the first few steps, the insignificant los of control. Where I know that my body should be falling, that it could not possibly hold it’s balance like this...

Then came the feeling of panic, right there at the porch, trying to get through...gave up the physical control, let them hoist me up, get me higher, above the tipping point...

Legs up

I was hanging from hooks.

Thirteen minutes later, I was light as a feather. Gone for a while with a shitty smile on my face. Up there, relaxation came like a blanket...

Closed eyes and just hanging there was no real pain in there, I could move, talk and feel...

Listening to one’s own body

23 after I came down...

When I started walking. Then I felt the joy, the overpowering sen-

sation. I have been somewhere else. Much later came the fear and loathing of what has happened. The picture where my body has been punctured, of the patch of skin that had to grow back. The realization of what my body did go through. Still, it passed away, the soundness of mind returned and it became a part of me. I reached a height and the valley of it. Stainless steel in the flesh. ***

Snorting

A

small basement room, not even a basement actually, just a ground floor room underneath the rest. Windows were closed and darkened with heavy cloth. This to keep the warmth in and the eyes out.

The furniture was really basic. A mattress on some pallets, a few high planks for books, a glass table and one made of boxes. Oh, and the book case filled with everything but books. Accessory.

An extra mattress was thrown down, sheets and a blanket. A laptop with music and movies was set by. Nothing out of the ordinary. A drink to go with it.

Ever done this before?

Nope.

24 The leaflet opened. Two cards in hand.

This is how you spread it, divide it and lay it out.

Here is the tube for you. Hold one nostril down and go.

His neck flew back, woo. Good, Another?

Have a drink? You will prepare the next one, woo. Watch for the back flow and it’s ok to pick your nose.

You like that stuff, he.

Music was switched on, hardly audible. And the conversations stretched on to the morning light. No destruction, but I got to know, new. Genuinely interesting. The tiredness was no question, the lights less dim. Next time I took a nap like that. With it. Lying in the dark, body switched off. Inside. Just the occasional twitching to check if everything was there. It has tried calling ever since.

Two nights of untiredness. ***

Pop-o-Matic

F

aces, Bodies - touch and senses. Tight young bodies, just well in reach. The feeling of a hint that a well formed ass passed by accidental scrub from body to body. Then there is the chubby girl. All flesh. Somewhere ready for action. A bosom, big enough to land on? Moving, knowing how to control her body. Those eyes knowing what they want.

Other eyes, beautiful. Powerful. Lustful. Beautiful. Can we take 25 her home daddy? Please? Those eyes.

Flash. So much Flesh. Young bodies. All to young? And everywhere. Can’t move without touching skin.

The electrics start up. Music.

Gone.

Drinks up. Booze gone. Movement, dull? Faces, bodies, sweat, drinks, movement, music, rhythm… all the same One unintentional cope after the other….

Let’s hit the road Gone. ***

Blur

T

26

here was a bra lying at my feet. A black one, with a shiny black cup. Even more were put in that plastic bag, just a few feet away. But that was it, all the clothing was already in a suitcase. A woman was packing them. Twisting and turning, pivoting around an unseen axis, the room was tied around her.

She had beautiful eyes. Blue. Shining. There was nothing more sensual about her than those two accents. But she moved like nobody was there. Slowly, I ate the orange slices that were given to me to have something till the drinks were ready. She was still moving, from the notches and cracks of the room the final pieces were guided in to the packs. Done, and the offered drinks were also in a state of waiting. The bag of bras was somewhere gone, and so was she within an hour. All I have gotten was one of her shinning eyes, so I should leave to.

It was way to early in the morning. Darkness or not outside, it

was indeterminable in there, under the bright tubes and spots that were covering the ceiling. Way too early. The ones without routine got into that uncomfortable feeling of being padded down, getting touched by another human being in a way that you would normally not allow. To get so close and into the place where you only give access to for pleasure or perversion. That unease against the human gate machine. After being booted through and getting immersed in the swamp of uneasy humans who are trying to get back to ther supposed decency, right there at the front porch of having way to much time for that. There, in the same over lit hall everybody was cropped up in their conquered square meter, guarding their possessions like everybody would hold a reason to be paranoid for. When the spaces, all those small squares ran out, then some strangers emerge and try out the nomadic way of waiting to go the same way with the rest. Then the signal comes end every strangers get’s up, get’s in line to get processed once more. No eye contacts as we get showed in the big tube, even more cropped up. Next to each other, tied to the chair they sit on.

No chance to run or hide. I close my eyes and 5 minutes later I am gone, somewhere totally else. For the good or the ill.

At the second day that nobody was home to answer the bell, my luck showed itself and I was able to sneak in to the building. Well, at least I can dunk the letter in his mailbox with the picture of them at her funeral. This was as far as my luck ran, his mailbox was overflowing with mail, something that has never happened in all my days. This broke my confidence and slowly I ascended the stairs. Just to check what I could check. The windows of his apartment had the ragged drapes sealed. Walking by, I found

27

the flies. A thick black mark filling up the inner ledge, all dead.

The same scene welcomed me at the kitchen window, except for one broken glass tile on the inner pane. Some grotesque reality had happened here, that was the only thing clear. Only a frenzied hunt through the building delivered an answer to this brutal riddle. He had died, rotted for more than a month until the police took him away. They had no records of family so he got filed away as “without relatives”. He died alone, sitting in his armchair. His heart stopped. Only I knew at that moment. After a month I went back. He was buried but for the rest, nothing has changed. I even saw a living fly. The house was still rotting away. But, at least the neighbors left two cans of fly killer in the window. But that was a month later, a month passing away.

It was near freezing point that day. I was walking outside when I found {him?}. Nothing more than a baggage, a piece of cloth and bag, in the form of what might be human. Was he alive? Frozen to death? Was I staring at an unwilling mummy? After all I did not stop, I did not get the answer to these questions. Later that day, it had turned into nigh. The pile had lost it’s form, the core went missing. I think I was relived. For me, or for {him?}?

28

That night, they were fucking, inside there. No, wait, I didn’t meant to say that. They called it love making as they have corrected me indirectly beforehand. “I {we} don’t fuck, boink or whatever, we make love.” But anyway, they knew it, we knew it. They were having sex inside that room, just one small thin door away between them and at that point me and us. The fact that there came no noise out of there proved that they were gone. The room was filled

with stuff lying around, clothes, tools, papers and what not on the floor. With in the end the double bed, overthrown sheets and a few random items covering it. Ten minutes later they stepped outside, slightly giggling as she said: “Good evening” to all of us.

As the whole family had assembled. They were back again, but nobody entered that room anymore for the rest of the evening.

Everybody knew, but you don’t talk about stuff like that.

“GuguguguguGughahagagahagaa” I was getting that feeling again, hoping it shall be still some where the same, the ambiance, the view and what not. They would be probably the same in there.

Good people, a bit scrambled sometimes, maybe. He picked me up at the station and we walked, talked, up, in, locks opened and there was the rubble, still there. Pop - the wines opened and we started talking, drinking, sudden bursts of creativity with a hint of gnomes and another drink next to talking. But the feelings were about nothing much, just another night in there. We went to a birthday party they were invited to. Still don’t know who they were. But that doesn’t make a difference – still nothing. A good night of indifference, so let’s find my mattress in that lot.

After I don’t know how long I found myself in front of the train station once again. It was dark outside, but the streets were still buzzing with people. Everything was moving, runking, moving... whatever. I was waiting there, just walking up and down, unde- 29 cided. A guy came up to me, asking what I was doing. In the background, the lights of a local sex-shop were shining. I answered that I was waiting. “Good for you, want some Cannabis?” Did not want to have anything from him, but as I turned toward him he

noticed the high powered camera bungling at my side. Heh, he found himself a realizations.

“Are you working for the news or something?”

“Not right now, Currently I’m not like that.”

Damn it, There goes a casual shot on the street. They would not react passively to that right now.

“We had once a news shoot right here at the corner, some kind of report. Shit, I didn’t notice that we were working full in the picture. So what are you doing then?”

“Just waiting” “Good for you” And that was it, a new deal came up and he ebbed away. After a while, so did I. Lynard Skynard – Freebird was playing in the old pub. There was a grate representation from the old crew for some reason. Accomplices from a few years back. We didn’t know each other anymore.

A few lost words here and there that acknowledged that we were friends a while ago. In the full bar, with chords of freebird playing, I am sitting alone. Beer in one hand, the barmaid in front of me.

Nice shirt. The song’s gone, I enjoy. Solace. And Led Zepp starts.

*** 30

31

Tilos a Linda

O

nce again, the start. Nothing more original than the regularity of “there I was”. But it works to start things of, and as usual; there I was.

Last few hours of 2012. I needed people around me. Not necessarily my family or friends from or not even around Budapest. But to see and maybe, find, meet anything new. The idea was to go to the Tilos Party. Why you ask? It was cheap entry and seemed like a good idea to hang around for those odd hours. Screw the planing, let’s go. Ass-rabbit that I tend to be, I was siting there alone dead spot center of the area almost before it opened it’s doors. So it didn’t took long before I let myself slip into becoming a photog once again for a random event. My free pass to the in between world. Not part of the crew, but also not a lonely drinking sod.

32

Step by step, hour after hour, time went by. The magic moment passed almost unnoticed. I’m still not sure at what time we passed into the next year. All I know is that at one moment the urge came, after seeing almost everybody else with champagne, that I also wanted to raise a glass of the bubbly in celebration. Fuck, this is also the beauty of it. Do whatever the damn you please with the means that you got. With this in mind I became the proud owner of a bottle of champagne and a glass to match.

After a while and a big plastic bowl of soup later, not to mention the slight notion that I had enough alcohol in my system. This was somewhere around I have absolutely no idea what moment

it could have been we noticed each other or at least I did consciously found an incentive. If I would take the effort I could find it at the hand of my photographs. As it turned out, I do have, after trashing the unelectable, two images of her. But what the hell does it matter. It was a while after my soup outside. That I stopped photographing and reacted at the above mentioned whatever urge that found it’s way around that twisted block of wood that is my lovely reaction time around these unprecedented situations with women. The monster was clipped to my belt and we started dancing, introduced one and another, took a couple of drinks while chattering and enjoying. In what order this went down I haven’t got the foggiest, but it turned into the first kisses and more talking and the conclusion that the night should be spent together. At her place since I am enjoying the full comfort of sleeping on a couch at the fatherly home. But the look in her eyes, the movement of her lips. The hint of enjoyment for the stolen seconds. You already know what is going to happen, but that also doesn’t matter, yet.

Jumping to my, hmm...that sentence stream isn’t going to make it.

Let’s recap this. The close-up shot that slowly transfers to a wide angle of her smiling down on me from the gallery a few hours (?) prior. The first conscious contact went seemingly by, sobering soup and last shot in the tent. Step up to her and from that it went along. The most amazing thing was that she waited for me as long as it took to get my backpack and gear in order. A last greeting to Tilos and gone.

33 The rest of the story has also a number of ways to be told. I could start bragging of what a cooked, but that would be hardly just.

To try and put it in the classy ways of a romance novel, which

would be equally silly. Maybe analyze it and put it out like that.

Any how, none of this would be fitting in to the nature of the happening. Let’s see if it makes any sense if I tell how it finished.

At the tram station an hour after noon. Ten minutes till the next yellow tube. We were both whispering for a couple of hours by then. Said goodbye, gave the last kisses, wished a happy new year to each other for a last time. Smiled and she walked away. Not looking back. For my part, I put on some music and started walking towards the bus station a couple of hundred meters away. This is a good way to stat a year.

But the reality must be applied gradually, so let’s go back a bit in time once more. Probably, this is becoming a bit of a bore for you, but some things have to be done. For example my attempt to badly transfer my experience of that evening and by that also annoying the hell out of you by dragging this bit a little bit further while writing in random bars and places.

As I started this bit at the end, and the start was written elaborately. It is now time to explore the center of it. She. Lean, long dark red hair and a playful thin smile. Soft.

34

Bottle of wine opened, spritzers in tall wine glasses. The ingredients scored at an 24/7 store a while back. Clothes were disappearing before the first round was emptied Glasses standing at both sides of the bed, within arms reach. Curves of het body, her hair, the way she tinkered with my fingers. Her coughing while we tried to sleep and rest. My hand on her back. Kiss, her accent and the whispering. The cat who wanted attention above all. Sex. One

night love. That’s all you get.

It’s four days later by now and I am disappearing once again from the land of fresh grass, clear water and the white horse. As this piece rambled on, I am still enjoying it. The sensuality, the clean physicality and small gestures in her bed. Mind you, I don’t carry a torch. Probably won’t meet her ever again. It’s the gift of that night that keeps me hanging around. This was maybe a bit cheesy.

Maybe I am just thinking too much about it this time around. ***

Alcoholica

I

have written about a number of subjects so far. Most had a sentence familiar to this “beer”. But none of them has put this subject in it’s spotlight really. As well guessed, alcohol does play a large role in my conscious life and awareness.

As I’m writing this, I’m up to my second liter of beer and sitting in a bus headed towards the even further outskirts of Budapest. This has almost proved my pride in the pride I had in my sobriety that almost lasted five days.

Sadly, I have to conclude that downing a daily amount in that 35 scale seems less difficult than staying sober thus far. This, without the urges to find something to drink after 16 to 20 hours after the last one.

Keep in mind, that I’m not {yet} a heavy drinker if you compare it to “student”, “Irish” or “alcoholic” standards. Keeping a tab, I managed to average out at a liter of beer a day, or a bottle of wine in a maximum of 2 days. If you keep it longer than that opened it tends to go bad. Nevertheless, my “drinking problem” is at a tipping point. Is it becoming a main goal or a purpose of drinking.

As far as I can recall, it has served way better as a social and functional drug, but this might be bullshit it did served it’s functional purpose in positive ways. Also it is easier to handle some things with a pint of beer already down the hatch.

By suppressing emotions and numbing anxiety, or just the magical effect of handling something that gives a feeling of comfort.

As I said before, it has been an active part of my functioning lif for quite some years now. It does show at some points in a few physical forms, for example the also mentioned desire to drink on a daily basis till the point that I find it hard to come. But that may have also other underlying issues behind it. But to skip back a beat, there are also the mood swings and “instinctive” outbursts and my bowel movement has been also quite funny lately according to my voluntary attacks against my system lately. Oh, and there are probably a number of things that I forgot to mention earlier, regarding.

36

But it is not all wine is fine, but whiskey is quicker. Suicide is slow by liqueur.

As I said, I’m momentarily at a tipping point. So let’s take a loot at why the hell I’m drinking – this time from the beneficial side.

First of all, it helps me to keep going. To relax the over worked nerves. To calm the shit down and try to produce something that I find worthwhile. Let it be art or something else “sensible” So far that is all I have, there are six and a half blank pages following the previous sentence. Since the last entry had been made quite a few months ago I find it hard to complete it for the poor sod. The current status quo is still in experimental phase. But this is due to a sudden move and the side effects of the life style changes that come along with such an event. But thus far it is quite the same, aside from the sheer oddity of some night sequences.

Shortly put, I have no idea what is and is going to happen, but it will be quite a ride though. Two days for a bottle of scotch, with something on the side. At least the cat likes it.

Further notes from the sports desk will arrive in due time. Hang on tight to your knockers. ***

Wisdom in Wine

“

Atheists are offended by anything that bears the mentioning of God in it” So is wine divine? A good or a bad one? What kind?

Sitting in the mess of my own home, filth around me. No, I have no vacuum cleaner. The rat scratching his back, cleaning himself.

Sometimes looking at me for whatever reason. “It is cleaned up, at

37

least as far as my resources could have let me” is my defense.

But as I near my 8th hour of sipping that good Merlo. And it had been even more hours slowly clicking my pictures away. So one can’t help but come to think. Thoughts caught in the act of good jazz brought to my eyes by Hank Roberts and companions, Jim Black and Marc Dubauc. I think, with apologies to Marc for misspelling his name.

Thinking back and rewriting that what I think in this light headed state of being, one can really come to an agreement with the capability of this substance, the good wine under the right circumstances, to bring a man to near weightlessness. And the tone changed, the tones are lower, the strings more accentuated. And so does my awareness change with it. More sharpened, pupils bigger.

Oh sweet wine {although this one isn’t} praised thou all, and all who sinned to drink thee under the right circumstances. Thou divine foul beast, lover of mans soul. May thee Hank R. be with You. And as I raise my next glass I float on to weightlessness. ***

The Kid

38

H

ehe… It was funny.

Seeing that near burned-out kind on the bus. Black plastic puffy jacket, probably designer jeans. The kid itself was a small,

fragile looking boy.

Who, when I last saw him, was one of the hotshot skateboard prodigies from a year or two back. Big mouth, some temper, rock and roll… Guns ‘n’ Roses and what not. Cute kid, slightly annoying at times, but he was one of the good ones, or something like that anyway. Interesting to see him like this. But he also recognized me after a while. I gestured an odd sign towards him, from his perception anyway. In reality, I just had my nose full of snot and had to do something about it. But anyway, he and his buddy stood up and came to me ”Sir, you changed” He said in an overly polite way for some reason. For the sake of good old times. “What’s with the Sir?”… “and yeah, I got balder…getting old” He gave a quick chuckle and they went on, a fast handshake and back to my book.

- heh… has he changed? Or not? …? ***

Fear and Loathing around a mind…

A

fter being supercharged, a couple of weeks of high intensity of the Good Doctor, with now a 300 plus pages of his first one, with the Angels, and my own life rolled, I feel some things taking over and un-starting to collapse…

Go ahead…

39

Should we really buy this ticket…? ***

The condom

H

e was high on something Probably speed, but who cares. At least it’s near irrelevant.

The party was okay, a bit overcrowded and it had some odd mixtures concerning the guests. But aside these minor inconveniences, one of the biggest problems that night was the shortage of beer.

Everybody was drinking and it was near impossible to hoard a stash in the “crowd”. Please, keep this in mind as we skip back a bit. He was high and had a cute girl arranged just for the occasion.

For some reason it would have been a sure thing for him. But, in a similar but still a stark contrast to my problem, he also had one for himself. Still keeping his somewhere depraved form of sensibility, probably for his own protection, he needed some rubbers for the night. Well, it’s a good thing that that poor girl remains relatively safe.

Anyway, he needs rubbers and I need beer. Just as I had learned from my dear mother, I had a couple of them with me. Quick run upstairs, he got one and I got a cold one.

No problem.

40

Later, I learned that he still managed to fuck up. Called out the wrong name…

The beer was good though. ***

Mosh pit

G

o for the pit-dancers! That were the orders. First day, third concert, metalcore I think. But it doesn’t matter. It was heavy, violent and loud. “Go straight for them, no pity” Poor guy never saw me coming...

Straight for the the face. I was flying at him with a heavy roll of punches.

All he could do was try and raise his arms in an attempt to defend himself. No use... The red of his shirt disappeared downwards into the crowd. Never saw him again. The instincts have risen and took hold for the weekend. It was a mighty feeling, physical contact.

That I could breake somebody without feeling pain myself. The feeling of my fists landing heavily on somebody’s flesh and bone.

Sometimes it was like shooting fish in a barrel. But still trying to hold onto some form of the ethics. Only going for the “dancers” those who lack the respect for the degenerates like us. Those who were flaying blindly with every part of their body just to hit somebody. No elbow work...

A quick stomp here and there when they were really out of their place, in the midst of the innocent. Those who were just trying to enjoy the music without getting too involved with the chaos and madness that you can get in a good and well built moshpit. Instinct were boiling, almost hunting for them sometimes...not that

41

you had to look far to find one, or for the same matter there where plenty who just fell in your neck.

Poor kid, he became the spear point of a massive wave through the crowd that ended at me. Out of pure reflex he found himself with a bleeding nose...

Luckily he understood.

And the first riff had not even been played yet... ***

The Village Pub

//the notes are more and more scrambled towards the end, may end up in gibberish //

S 42

o there I was, past midnight, sitting with one of the biggest beers they could offer at the bar. In one corner three men playing a version of pool or snooker that I couldn’t recognize. Hell, it just involved three balls and no pockets. On the other side, the rest of the middle aged “townsmen” were standing. Or around the Old-timer coin slipper watching the fruits spin or semi-drunk talking about past drunk experiences and the responsibilities tat go with them.

The saltshaker for my tequila was nice and funny. Shaped like a Corona bottle.

All honest to goodness people, with the looks that would go with what they probably are. Men, Dutch men from a near city village.

Hell, I need to get my nose in some speed and that LSD business seems tempting for a night.

Good Doctor, what have you done to me… hehehe But anyway, as I was sitting here on my own lonely arse, writing these words, thinking how stupid it is that I don’t share a talk with them somehow.

Well…see ya in five?

Well… I still don’t understand a fuck about this game.

The basic is that you have to touch the three bands of the table… but for the rest…it’s a mystery.

But I learned something about the three players from an ed more of them…after 20 years they visibly old. And something about their jobs. On is a French mauer and the others are a something unknown or forgotten…

Fucked up game…

It is…

God damn. One lives next to the church though ***

Substantial Kill

I

remember, it was back in the “good old days”. When we were at least 40 man strong. Our region… to make it sound bad ass: the turf… was also impressive. You could walk for a minute of 10 – 15 and still find people scattered here and there together. It wasn’t like that we were some kind of vile gang or something. The crew

43

mostly consisted off teenage outcasts, stoners, rockers, punks and associates. The police knew us and were fine with us, as long as we were not to loud or obnoxious. Plus that we did scatter around instead of standing in one big group. The neighborhood was also quite fine with us, except for the lady in white.

But anyway, I think I got carried away with this nostalgia thing.

Needles to say, even as well behaved as we were, we weren’t innocent. We drank and a lot of us were also using a range of different substances to enhance themselves. Or just to get their derailed mind back on track, so to speak. On one of those Friday nights something, something went askew. Somebody got in a state that was definitely beyond the bad trip and right in the area of “shit sick”. We knew that he was sick on the base level, he had just gotten a new kind of medication in. The problem was that he drank on it and in a shitty turn of mind he took a joint on top of it. We called an ambulance.

It arrived within 15 minutes or so and it was also gone in the same hurry. Without him.

The alleged reason for abandonment was that he was stoned. And they don’t deal with stoned patients. We couldn’t believe it, but we also couldn’t do a thing about it either.

44

The crew jumped in action. Suddenly everybody knew his or her place and role. There were the ones closest to him who were figuring out what has gone wrong within him and what were the best courses of action, besides them were the gruff workers. They were the ones holding his head so he could puke and not choke or moving his body into the best positions. For a while I was among

them, for a half an hour his head was balancing between my hands. Next to it al was the great reserve, the ones who sometimes took over a place or were just doing their business a few meters more to the side to give space.

Like this, we were taking care of him, switching in shifts. Waiting till he got well enough to be transported home by two.

In the end we found out that he was in abuses because of love pain.

Nevertheless, after my shift was done. I grabbed my beer and went back to having a good night. That one of us was down and near out was no reason for any of us to stop entirely. ***

Good morning g’dmmit.

I

t has found me on the floor once again. If you would have been there, which would be curious by itself, you would have been able to correct me. But as the lazy bastard that you were you didn’t show up again. What you could have said would have been somewhere in the spirit of this. “The floor would have been too good for your ass, you lazy bastard. You slept on two cushions, originating from a luxury leather couch that was missing from our existing reality. At the head of this comfortability there was your bag, serving as a head rest. On top of all this you also had an old military sleeping-bag where you laid your leather jacket over to provide maximum comfort.”

45

My answer to your high pitched rant would be that I did in fact sleep rather well, or by using a more common phrase that would have been better fitting but higher on the stereotypical factor, like a brick. Done some chillin. Beer, beer, beer, some weed, a bread with cold sausage and one with egg at the end. Will have to learn to skip. Dude that was sleeping next to me just noticed that I was gone. This, while in fact, I’m already a couple of towns further.

Traveling again, by train. Not by plane. Why not by plane, I wonder. I could go way further by plane. To the edge of the horizon, where the sheep’s are purple in the morning glow and the tree’s are dripping towards Australia as they melt away from a never seen center of a Nordic glacier. Boobies. ***

Hospitals

T 46

he reason to stay healthy, even while there really is no good excuse how it is even possible sometimes, is simply that I don’t like hospitals. Especially for more than ten minutes, if we have to look at the time. Other than this, I probably have spent enough time in the embracing hands of hospitals as a kid to justify this reaction against hanging out with them. But now I have found a small “kitchen” counter in this particular one, and that is what this situation needs. More counter tables with or without kitchens attached to it. But in any case, it must have an adjacent fridge, because that is good. This is without a doubt a fact. More than the appearances of hospitals. Simply because they don’t matter.

They are all the same. Even if they are not. See, a kitchen counter

should be alike. But if they did that to hospitals it wouldn’t matter because they are all the same. Except for the different ones. *** I went back‌ Three months later...

Got into the building

At least the neighbors left two cans of fly killer spray in the window. ***

47

“There was a bra lying at my feet.

A black one, shiny black cup.

And even more were put in That plastic bag a few feet away.”

A misdirecting quote

“If you ask me what it is about, my first answer will be that I have no idea”

B.S. Szűcs

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