Egyik reggel elindultam a fodrászhoz. Jó, nem reggel és nem rögtön a fodrászhoz, mert akkor még korán volt, viszont otthon nem tudtam mit kezdeni magammal. Pedig megnéztem egy filmet és reggeliztem is, vajas rozsos kenyeret paprikával, bár a filmet kár volt.
Na szóval, sétálok a trolli felé, rubi már magától is odatalál, annyira szereti a bkv-t... mikor szembejön egy aranyos felhőkutya, akire rámosolygok és abban a minutumban rájövök a tutira.
Mert hogy, kedves polgártásaim (értem ezalatt a budapestieket, de főleg a pestieket, Budára csak nagy kényszer miatt megyek át) Pesten létezni nem egyszerű. Kell némi kiképzés és vannak alapszabályok, amelyek segítenek túlélni ezt a világvárost (többen tudjátok, hogy pár világvárost sikeresen túléltem, több kontinensen is, de Budapest egy külön bolygó).
Jöjjenek tehát itt és most azok a megfigyeléseim, amelyeket, ha megfogadtok, talán nem lesztek boldogok, viszont életben maradtok,viszonylag egészségesen.
1. Ne mosolyogj az utcán. Senkire. Nem értékelik, és még hülyének is néznek. Kell ez neked?
2. Semmi szemkontakt az aluljáróban. Tényleg. Egy halom kellemetlen élménytől kíméled meg magad.
3. Senkivel ne elegyedj szóba buszon, villamoson, metrón, mert kurvára félreérti mindenki. És a végén még valakit jókedvre derítesz, jaj csak azt ne!
4. Soha ne panaszkodj semmilyen szolgáltatás miatt. Így van az jól, közértben, üzletben,benzinkótnál te várj a személyzetre, hadd végezzék a dolgukat amilyen lassan csak tudják. Miért, mit gondoltál, a pénzedért kapsz is valamit?
5. Pasikkal ne állj szóba sehol mert
a) megijednek, hogy jövő héten esküvőt és gyereket akarsz
b) megijednek, hogy csak szórakozni akarsz velük (persze, mert általában azért keressük egymás társaságát, hogy búslakodjunk).
Tisztelet a ... van itt egyáltalán olyan?
6. Alapvetően senkivel ne próbálj kedves lenni,még a végén megváltozik valakinek a szemlélete és akkor nem lehetne folyton panaszkodni, hogy bezzed itt Kelet-Európában, ahol minden kicsit sárgább, kicsit savanyúbb, de...
Félreértés ne essék, nem akarom én gyökeresen megváltoztatni a szülővárosomat. Nem akarok lázadni, macskakövet bontani, vízágyúnál zuhanyozni (kivéve ha épp zöld festéket használnak) vagy a Kossuth téren sátorozni (azt csak a Hegyalján, ha hozol sátrat, érted).
De azért, néha, egy picit... tényleg nem több energia vidáman és lökötten nekiindulni reggel a városnak. Srácok, ti meg ugorjatok el a Mars felé, és onnan gyertek vissza.
Addig is, mindenki ki a zöldbe zenét hallgatni, fröccsözni és hajnalig smárolni!
Nyár van :D
Friday, June 19, 2009
Thursday, June 11, 2009
Sales és pszichológia
Minden úgy kezdődött... persze, minden sztori így nyit, kicsit közhely, de tényleg így volt.
Szóval, egzisztenciális és minden egyéb tipúsú válság miatt úgy döntöttem, hogy lemegyek egy üveg borért meg egy doboz cigiért. Holnaptól sport, ígérem, találtam pilatest, mindig ki akartam próbálni, most végre két sarokra vannak tőlem. De az holnap lesz.
Szóval, lemegyek, levittem a szemetet is, ha már, átszeltem a Rákóczi út 6 sávját, ebben évek óta profi vagyok, éjjel meg aztán nincs forgalom, hogy a szemközti bankból némi kápét csikarjak ki. A legközebbi éjjelnappali ugyanis még nem fogad el kártyát.
Közben azon gondolkoztam, hogy mi is az aktuális rendelet a nyóckerben. Mert hogy x óra után ugye már nem lehet alkoholt venni, fene az anyáskodó és gondoskodó lényüket, viszont mivel i drink therefore i am, nekem kellett az az üveg bor, akár a hetedik kerületbe is hajlandó lettem volna elmenni, 5 perc séta, ott viszont adnak bort bármikor.
No tehát, cash megvan, bolt zárva, váltás, 10 perc. Nem úgy van az, gondoltam magamban, toleranciaszintem Michael Douglaséval egyenlő manapság az Összeomlás c. filmben, tudjátok.
Tovább tehát, reménykedve abban, hogy a kedvenc kisboltom 11 előtt kiszolgál, ráadásul ismernek régóta. (ebbe ne menjünk bele, nem lenne szép rám nézve...)
OK, bolt nyitva, belibbenek, köszönök az ismerős pénztáros csajszinak. Egyébként nemrég ment férjhez, úriember aranyos srác, a költözésnél a kartondobozokat akkurátusan kiválogatta nekem, madzaggal még össze is kötözte, tehát rendben van a fiú.
Ahogy a borokat nézegetem (na nem olyan sokáig, tudom mjt szeretek és mennyiért), feltűnik egy fiatalember rózsával a kezében. Randi, sóhajt fel a szívem, nem annyira irígyen, mint... de, ok, őszintén kicsit irigykedve. Kedvenc borom viszont szerencsére azonnal elvonja a figyelmem, leveszem a polcról és máris a kasszánál vagyok. Bocs, a pénztárnál, merthogy beszéljünk magyarul vagy ubungaiul, hiszen ubunga az ubungaiaké, de ebbe most ne menjünk bele.
Kérek még egy doboz cigit, csajszi tudja mit, fizetek, elmesélem nagyit, már a rózsás srácon van a sor, de én még mindig beszélek. Ismertek, vagy mi a fene, ha egyszer kinyílik a szám, nincs az az isten aki belém szorítja a szót :)
Srác üveg vörösbort vesz meg még valamit, erre nem emlékszem, és morfondírozik. Én szabadkozom, hogy bocs, tényleg te vagy soron, én már végeztem. Srác cigit próbál venni, csajszi türelmetlen, mert srác nem tudja melyiket. Hisze nem is dohányzik, de valami vékony, nőieset kér.
OFF: pasi csajnak vékonyt és nőieset? Na jó, nem folytatom, hahaha!
Azt már nem hallom, hogy Pall Mallt mond, én javaslom az Eve-et, tanakodunk egy darabig, majd isteni szikra kipattan a fejemből. Figyelj srác, vegyél két különböző dobozzal és akkor a lány majd azt látja, hogy mennyire figyelmes vagy! Srác pikkpakk meggyőzve, én meg felocsúdok, hogy már megint volt egy kib...ott ötletem, mindezt ingyen.
Srác fizet, én még megveregetem a vállát, hogy ne aggódj, öcsi, minden rendben lesz, majd búcsúzok és elindulok.
Egész úton hazafelé... nem plagizálok tovább, szóval lehet, hogy mégis elfogadom azt a munkát, hogy pszichológiai szolgáltatást értékesítek. Időmből kitelik, az email nem kerül semmibe, ha bejön megint jól fogom magam érezni a bőrőmben.
Addig is, írtam egy picit, a túrabeszámolóval még lógok, tudom. Az viszont vicces lesz, és van benne rubi meg lost !
Szóval, egzisztenciális és minden egyéb tipúsú válság miatt úgy döntöttem, hogy lemegyek egy üveg borért meg egy doboz cigiért. Holnaptól sport, ígérem, találtam pilatest, mindig ki akartam próbálni, most végre két sarokra vannak tőlem. De az holnap lesz.
Szóval, lemegyek, levittem a szemetet is, ha már, átszeltem a Rákóczi út 6 sávját, ebben évek óta profi vagyok, éjjel meg aztán nincs forgalom, hogy a szemközti bankból némi kápét csikarjak ki. A legközebbi éjjelnappali ugyanis még nem fogad el kártyát.
Közben azon gondolkoztam, hogy mi is az aktuális rendelet a nyóckerben. Mert hogy x óra után ugye már nem lehet alkoholt venni, fene az anyáskodó és gondoskodó lényüket, viszont mivel i drink therefore i am, nekem kellett az az üveg bor, akár a hetedik kerületbe is hajlandó lettem volna elmenni, 5 perc séta, ott viszont adnak bort bármikor.
No tehát, cash megvan, bolt zárva, váltás, 10 perc. Nem úgy van az, gondoltam magamban, toleranciaszintem Michael Douglaséval egyenlő manapság az Összeomlás c. filmben, tudjátok.
Tovább tehát, reménykedve abban, hogy a kedvenc kisboltom 11 előtt kiszolgál, ráadásul ismernek régóta. (ebbe ne menjünk bele, nem lenne szép rám nézve...)
OK, bolt nyitva, belibbenek, köszönök az ismerős pénztáros csajszinak. Egyébként nemrég ment férjhez, úriember aranyos srác, a költözésnél a kartondobozokat akkurátusan kiválogatta nekem, madzaggal még össze is kötözte, tehát rendben van a fiú.
Ahogy a borokat nézegetem (na nem olyan sokáig, tudom mjt szeretek és mennyiért), feltűnik egy fiatalember rózsával a kezében. Randi, sóhajt fel a szívem, nem annyira irígyen, mint... de, ok, őszintén kicsit irigykedve. Kedvenc borom viszont szerencsére azonnal elvonja a figyelmem, leveszem a polcról és máris a kasszánál vagyok. Bocs, a pénztárnál, merthogy beszéljünk magyarul vagy ubungaiul, hiszen ubunga az ubungaiaké, de ebbe most ne menjünk bele.
Kérek még egy doboz cigit, csajszi tudja mit, fizetek, elmesélem nagyit, már a rózsás srácon van a sor, de én még mindig beszélek. Ismertek, vagy mi a fene, ha egyszer kinyílik a szám, nincs az az isten aki belém szorítja a szót :)
Srác üveg vörösbort vesz meg még valamit, erre nem emlékszem, és morfondírozik. Én szabadkozom, hogy bocs, tényleg te vagy soron, én már végeztem. Srác cigit próbál venni, csajszi türelmetlen, mert srác nem tudja melyiket. Hisze nem is dohányzik, de valami vékony, nőieset kér.
OFF: pasi csajnak vékonyt és nőieset? Na jó, nem folytatom, hahaha!
Azt már nem hallom, hogy Pall Mallt mond, én javaslom az Eve-et, tanakodunk egy darabig, majd isteni szikra kipattan a fejemből. Figyelj srác, vegyél két különböző dobozzal és akkor a lány majd azt látja, hogy mennyire figyelmes vagy! Srác pikkpakk meggyőzve, én meg felocsúdok, hogy már megint volt egy kib...ott ötletem, mindezt ingyen.
Srác fizet, én még megveregetem a vállát, hogy ne aggódj, öcsi, minden rendben lesz, majd búcsúzok és elindulok.
Egész úton hazafelé... nem plagizálok tovább, szóval lehet, hogy mégis elfogadom azt a munkát, hogy pszichológiai szolgáltatást értékesítek. Időmből kitelik, az email nem kerül semmibe, ha bejön megint jól fogom magam érezni a bőrőmben.
Addig is, írtam egy picit, a túrabeszámolóval még lógok, tudom. Az viszont vicces lesz, és van benne rubi meg lost !
Tuesday, February 24, 2009
Dawn - chapter 3
It wasn’t a difficult decision to take. I didn’t have much to leave behind, and I was sure that I wasn't gonna be missed.
I had always been curious about death. What would it have felt like? Of course the only reasonable way to try it is if you know there is a way back. Well, now I had one. It was a rather short ceremony, really, a quick bite, yet quite painful. Then a couple of days between life and death, not much worse than a bloody strong hangover or a badly organised suicide attempt, you know, the pill overdose kind. Apart from that, not a bad way of spending the weekend.
Being a newborn vampire has many advantages. You get to choose a name, a cool one that is! You get to walk around in luscious clothes, preferably black and long. You don’t have to smell your fellow travellers on crowded buses, stay in line, nor stick to the rules. There are no more unpleasant physical sensations. Time is endless. Sex is a near-death experience of the better kind, but no mortal man can ever understand that.
After the initial euphoria, as with all good things, comes of course the downside. Vampires must kill in order to survive, to feed. And they need fresh blood, which means fresh bodies. It can become quite an addiction, once you get the hang of it. You’re as fast as lightning, jump like you were flying, read mortals’ minds and can even influence their actions. You gain strength, power and almost invincibillity. It’s a sensation that drugs you and that you can end up abusing. With time you eventually learn to deal with your new abilities. You have to, because sooner or later you will meet slayers. They are the ones who try to score for the mortals in the match against the undead by roaming the night with wooden stakes, crosses and holy water.
I had to face all these challenges and was improving like never before, as if in death I had finally found my mission. In my early killings (although we prefer to call it feeding) I built myself quite a legion of vassals, thus strengthening my freshly earnt position in the dark society. I became a master, admired by many in my grandeur, and feared by even more. Nothing I missed from my earlier life, not the warm light of the sun, nor the savours I used to love. Least of all I yearned for human companionship. I enjoyed the power, perhaps a little too much, the nocturnal life, telepathy, and flying. But most of all I took pleasure in the terror I was spreading. The first bite, I must be honest, wasn’t that easy, yet I soon got hooked on it. So much so that I started collecting small tokens from my victims. I cherished the tiny objects that reminded me of what a powerful goddess of destruction I had become. Indeed, not all of my victims had gained the right to be my underlings.
Until the day Fate decided to cross my path.
I was just tasting the freshness of her blood, when from the corner of my eye I saw a birthmark. It reminded me of something I thought I had forgotten since that far away day the man from the adoption agency took the warm, tiny body from my shaking arms.
It took me years to fight the memories, yet they didn’t seem to fade. Then, slowly, they evanesced. I hurt no more, didn’t feel a thing. I had almost no recollection of what I could only compare to sinking a long, sharp blade into your own flesh. Not to die, but to feel the pain.
It was over. Buried deep in the soul I believed lost for eternity. Never could I imagine it would one day resurface.
It did.
I had always been curious about death. What would it have felt like? Of course the only reasonable way to try it is if you know there is a way back. Well, now I had one. It was a rather short ceremony, really, a quick bite, yet quite painful. Then a couple of days between life and death, not much worse than a bloody strong hangover or a badly organised suicide attempt, you know, the pill overdose kind. Apart from that, not a bad way of spending the weekend.
Being a newborn vampire has many advantages. You get to choose a name, a cool one that is! You get to walk around in luscious clothes, preferably black and long. You don’t have to smell your fellow travellers on crowded buses, stay in line, nor stick to the rules. There are no more unpleasant physical sensations. Time is endless. Sex is a near-death experience of the better kind, but no mortal man can ever understand that.
After the initial euphoria, as with all good things, comes of course the downside. Vampires must kill in order to survive, to feed. And they need fresh blood, which means fresh bodies. It can become quite an addiction, once you get the hang of it. You’re as fast as lightning, jump like you were flying, read mortals’ minds and can even influence their actions. You gain strength, power and almost invincibillity. It’s a sensation that drugs you and that you can end up abusing. With time you eventually learn to deal with your new abilities. You have to, because sooner or later you will meet slayers. They are the ones who try to score for the mortals in the match against the undead by roaming the night with wooden stakes, crosses and holy water.
I had to face all these challenges and was improving like never before, as if in death I had finally found my mission. In my early killings (although we prefer to call it feeding) I built myself quite a legion of vassals, thus strengthening my freshly earnt position in the dark society. I became a master, admired by many in my grandeur, and feared by even more. Nothing I missed from my earlier life, not the warm light of the sun, nor the savours I used to love. Least of all I yearned for human companionship. I enjoyed the power, perhaps a little too much, the nocturnal life, telepathy, and flying. But most of all I took pleasure in the terror I was spreading. The first bite, I must be honest, wasn’t that easy, yet I soon got hooked on it. So much so that I started collecting small tokens from my victims. I cherished the tiny objects that reminded me of what a powerful goddess of destruction I had become. Indeed, not all of my victims had gained the right to be my underlings.
Until the day Fate decided to cross my path.
I was just tasting the freshness of her blood, when from the corner of my eye I saw a birthmark. It reminded me of something I thought I had forgotten since that far away day the man from the adoption agency took the warm, tiny body from my shaking arms.
It took me years to fight the memories, yet they didn’t seem to fade. Then, slowly, they evanesced. I hurt no more, didn’t feel a thing. I had almost no recollection of what I could only compare to sinking a long, sharp blade into your own flesh. Not to die, but to feel the pain.
It was over. Buried deep in the soul I believed lost for eternity. Never could I imagine it would one day resurface.
It did.
Monday, February 23, 2009
Dawn - chapter 2
In just a few months I became an expert of everything just a little off Euclidean geometry and Einstein's space-time continuum… of the truth out there, as some people like to put it. I realized it had always been there, right in front of us, well in front of our third eye, but official science had for centuries tried to deny and annihilate it.
Then one day I found something that I would have never imagined, not even in my wildest dreams. Something that apparently had come from nowhere and looked like such a simple solution that it was almost a triviality. Something that could end all my suffering, all the anxiety I had accumulated during the years, something that would sweep away the hopelessness of the future.
A few compromises were necessary, but who would not renounce to savouring a delicious dish, to getting tanned by the seaside, to ever having to pay taxes in exchange for eternity? A quiet life, at last, that nobody and nothing can disturb, where you would be able to do whatever you desired, any time.
There were some basic rules, though. Luckily I had no problem with living by night, could go a long time without spicing up my dishes with garlic, and never really was so hung up on going to church.
As my favourite saying went, what the caterpillar calls the end of the world, the master calls a butterfly. This was actually all so true for me. The caterpillar was death, the butterfly rebirth.
As a vampire.
Then one day I found something that I would have never imagined, not even in my wildest dreams. Something that apparently had come from nowhere and looked like such a simple solution that it was almost a triviality. Something that could end all my suffering, all the anxiety I had accumulated during the years, something that would sweep away the hopelessness of the future.
A few compromises were necessary, but who would not renounce to savouring a delicious dish, to getting tanned by the seaside, to ever having to pay taxes in exchange for eternity? A quiet life, at last, that nobody and nothing can disturb, where you would be able to do whatever you desired, any time.
There were some basic rules, though. Luckily I had no problem with living by night, could go a long time without spicing up my dishes with garlic, and never really was so hung up on going to church.
As my favourite saying went, what the caterpillar calls the end of the world, the master calls a butterfly. This was actually all so true for me. The caterpillar was death, the butterfly rebirth.
As a vampire.
Sunday, February 22, 2009
Dawn - chapter 1
I spent my childhood just like everybody else in 21st century Eastern Europe. Father was an alcoholic, mother was a control freak, who loved me too much. And then there was the rest of the bunch, grandparents, cusins, friends. Not so many of these last. The reason was that my father’s job made us travel a lot, so from very early on I had to get used to moving from one place to another and that meant thousands of chilometers. This everchanging environment became a part of my life, so I stuck to it as an adult as well. Never new anything better. In the beginning I had some travel companions, sot to say. Then I realized I was better off on my own.
The downside of all was that I never could stick to anything or anyone long enough. As soon as I felt I had a stable relationship I had to move on. Could not stand the routine. I tried finding answers, of course, used up a whole lot of shrinks. They always told me what good old Sigmund would, that everything happened because of my parents. They got divorced when I was 12, and apparently this had left undeletable marks in my unconscious. What did even more was that my parents’ first divorce happened when I was just one year old, and obviously I learnt that many year later down the road.
Everyday life was just the same for me. I followed family traditions working in areas where I could travel. It I could not go abroad, than abroad came to me. It was the same pattern. After one or one and a half years there would be a change. I kept wandering from one company to the other, like a bee from flower to flower. God knows I tried to figure out what I was interested in, what I could stick to, but results were apparently escaping me.
With the passing of time I became lonelier than ever. I could not find my place with anyone or anywhere, but I could not get rid of one very specific feeling. Ever since my childhood I felt that I had to accomplish something, that I had a mission and that I would not die before fulfilling it. It was then that I started to neglect the professional duties and the thought of starting a family, which is no wonder for a woman approaching her fortieth birthday. I gave up all the worldly pleasures and searched for something that would help me find completion. I cannot even start listing everything I tried: drugs, Eastern philosophy, martial arts, painting, occult sciences, until one day I found an ancient and torn tome in a hidden antique’s bookstore.
I read the entire book in one night. Its effect was so powerful that I searched for anything similar in all the old bookshops in the city. There was an abundance of misterious stories: alchimists, templars, rosicrucians, ghosts, ancient pagan religions, myths, monsters and vampires. This knewly acquired knowledge was stuck in my head, I could not get rid of, could not sleep, just had to read and read, one book after the other. My obsesssion became so strong that I decided to use up all the money I had set aside to buy a little house far from the city in order to be able to learn more about this newly found world. I was not worried about the future, life gave me more than a dash of cynism, and I was certain that I would be able to support myself by teaching or translating occasionally. I had a sensation that this was my last chance, that book had been sent to me for a reason. I had to finally be on the right path. It was my only hope, if I could not make it, than I would have been left with no other option that mental hunger strike and a slow passing away. And I definitely felt to young to just disappear without leaving a trace.
The downside of all was that I never could stick to anything or anyone long enough. As soon as I felt I had a stable relationship I had to move on. Could not stand the routine. I tried finding answers, of course, used up a whole lot of shrinks. They always told me what good old Sigmund would, that everything happened because of my parents. They got divorced when I was 12, and apparently this had left undeletable marks in my unconscious. What did even more was that my parents’ first divorce happened when I was just one year old, and obviously I learnt that many year later down the road.
Everyday life was just the same for me. I followed family traditions working in areas where I could travel. It I could not go abroad, than abroad came to me. It was the same pattern. After one or one and a half years there would be a change. I kept wandering from one company to the other, like a bee from flower to flower. God knows I tried to figure out what I was interested in, what I could stick to, but results were apparently escaping me.
With the passing of time I became lonelier than ever. I could not find my place with anyone or anywhere, but I could not get rid of one very specific feeling. Ever since my childhood I felt that I had to accomplish something, that I had a mission and that I would not die before fulfilling it. It was then that I started to neglect the professional duties and the thought of starting a family, which is no wonder for a woman approaching her fortieth birthday. I gave up all the worldly pleasures and searched for something that would help me find completion. I cannot even start listing everything I tried: drugs, Eastern philosophy, martial arts, painting, occult sciences, until one day I found an ancient and torn tome in a hidden antique’s bookstore.
I read the entire book in one night. Its effect was so powerful that I searched for anything similar in all the old bookshops in the city. There was an abundance of misterious stories: alchimists, templars, rosicrucians, ghosts, ancient pagan religions, myths, monsters and vampires. This knewly acquired knowledge was stuck in my head, I could not get rid of, could not sleep, just had to read and read, one book after the other. My obsesssion became so strong that I decided to use up all the money I had set aside to buy a little house far from the city in order to be able to learn more about this newly found world. I was not worried about the future, life gave me more than a dash of cynism, and I was certain that I would be able to support myself by teaching or translating occasionally. I had a sensation that this was my last chance, that book had been sent to me for a reason. I had to finally be on the right path. It was my only hope, if I could not make it, than I would have been left with no other option that mental hunger strike and a slow passing away. And I definitely felt to young to just disappear without leaving a trace.
Saturday, February 21, 2009
The apple
The car was speeding in the dark with a strong diesel sound. The girl was nervously looking at the road ahead.
She was driving him home. They met at literary club where the man was giving a lecture. He was a writer and the girl always wanted to write.
The girl decided to go to the lecture because she has known the man for a long time. She read his stories and loved them. After the lecture was over she was heading home, then she suddenly realized that it would be foolish to waste such an opportunity. So she turned on her steps and introduced herself. They sat down and started talking.
She told him she had just finished writing a novel. The first one. A work of art, at least for her. Not that she thought much of it, yet she was proud of herself. Because she did it. She wrote it and ached for feedback.
A weird glimpse appeared in the writer’s eyes. He got curious about the work. He wanted to read it. The girl could hardly believe his words. The writer wanted to read her work? She felt the least she could do was to give him a ride home.
Next day she sat down and read her novel once again to check it. It was not until three in the morning that she managed to get to bed.
The car kept running in the cold of the night. Finally they arrived to his house. It was on the hills, bright city lights shining below it as a beautiful piece of jewellery. They stared at the lights, the girl sat motionless, just gazing into the void.
From the corner of her eye she saw the writer looking at her. She did not dare turn her head. All she could do was to concentrate on the lights, like it was the first time she ever saw them. The lights of the city she grew up in.
She felt his fingers playing with her hair. Silence ruled.
The kiss came out of nowhere. The girl was taken aback but did not resist.
It was mesmerizing and felt like eternity.
The man got out of the car, and the girl drove away. She saw him looking at the bright city lights.
He was standing next to a tree. He looked up and saw a beautiful red apple. He plucked it and bit it with pleasure.
The apple did what apples do. In all its brightness and redness. Ready to be plucked and tasted.
Wings on the rack
You can get used to being in jail. You can even reach the point of finding it comfortable. Sinking in that well known, familiar hole, your cosy spot where they cannot harm you...
It’s the same routine every day. All the tiny details worked out to perfection. To fill your day with them, so that you would never get bored. So that you would never have to think. Because that would drive you crazy.
Of course, somehow she already went crazy, just did not want to admit it.
She would rather bury her thoughts.
Because she was afraid of asking the questions.
She tried to answer them so many times she could not even count them. Instead, she merely stared at them, like trapped by vertigo on the verge of a precipice.
Then she lets go of the rail and walks away.
She doesn’t dare. Yet she knows she has wings.
She never dares use her wings.
Once she made an attempt, but didn’t carry it through. She was already standing on top of the rail, looking down into the deep, watching the others fly with confidence.
A leap of faith, that was all she needed.
She gets back to the house, hangs the wings next to the raincoat, and sits in front of the television. There is a list on the coffee table. It’s the list of all her chores. She goes through it every day, checks a couple of chores off, but mostly she prolongs the deadlines.
She goes to the kitchen and does the dishes, as neatly as always. She puts away the clean and dry pans in the cupboard.
She loves her kitchen, it’s like the heart her little flat.
Or is it her life’s?
She doesn’t want to speculate about it, nor answer it.
Just likes having it tidy and clean.
It’s the same routine every day. All the tiny details worked out to perfection. To fill your day with them, so that you would never get bored. So that you would never have to think. Because that would drive you crazy.
Of course, somehow she already went crazy, just did not want to admit it.
She would rather bury her thoughts.
Because she was afraid of asking the questions.
She tried to answer them so many times she could not even count them. Instead, she merely stared at them, like trapped by vertigo on the verge of a precipice.
Then she lets go of the rail and walks away.
She doesn’t dare. Yet she knows she has wings.
She never dares use her wings.
Once she made an attempt, but didn’t carry it through. She was already standing on top of the rail, looking down into the deep, watching the others fly with confidence.
A leap of faith, that was all she needed.
She gets back to the house, hangs the wings next to the raincoat, and sits in front of the television. There is a list on the coffee table. It’s the list of all her chores. She goes through it every day, checks a couple of chores off, but mostly she prolongs the deadlines.
She goes to the kitchen and does the dishes, as neatly as always. She puts away the clean and dry pans in the cupboard.
She loves her kitchen, it’s like the heart her little flat.
Or is it her life’s?
She doesn’t want to speculate about it, nor answer it.
Just likes having it tidy and clean.
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