theatre or whatever

Everything I would say is a lie. I could criticise it only after death. I'll lie a little bit. We should decide if we live for lies or we lie for life.

Theatre. On the stage they act less than spectators. It is not Chekhov. It is not the reason. In the break banal bunk flows like water from the mouths of people. The stage is alive, not in the way as we live, truly, without necklaces, face powder, high-heels, cell phones, television and without mask. Their mask is livable, our life is a mask. Manna is streaming, manna. It disappears in the fog, it ends and dulls. And dies. But there are people who jump to catch it, hold it fast, embrace it tight and don't let it go. I jumped and a teardrop ran down my face.

Then I marched along with the others upwards, as if that boy didn't die on the stage, as if it wasn't real. "The team is standing to lose!"-I hear. And I still cannot believe it. The silkworm retires into its shell and dulls in its warmth. This shell is a shackle, voluntary and strong.

Short sentences, murmurs are quelled by the snow. Now I'm outside in the street, in the labyrinth of society, Minotaur is passing me, we are his mother, the father is the Earth. Then he also gets lost in the silence, only me who remains and writes...

Self-expressionism or losing yourself?

Yesterday I was surfing on MySpace and I've found some profiles which were so distasteful and provocing that I started to think about self-expressionism.

I recognised a strong wave of need for self-expessionism in recent years. There have always been movements from which subcultures emerged with their own clothing-styles and slogens, they all had something to say and think about. But as I see in this great jungle formed by cities less and less people think that they can mark out from the crowd. In order to make themselves memorable, they start to create an outstanding outfit with studs, extreme colours, extreme hairstyles, plenty of badges and other things. It wouldn't be bad if it meant something real opposition under the surface. Instead most of these rebels decorate themselves with signs of opposition against oppression but without real values and principles. And without real opposition.

They are more like lost children who just can't find their values and places in the world. Kitchy wrecks without meaningful thoughts inside. Only educated minds can stand up for their rights, these exhibition-like teenagers only fight with their fears and perplexity.

Sometimes the more you want to show to the world from yourself, the less exists inside.

Kitsch-catching

What would you think if you saw 8 friends in a room putting kitschy clothes on and preparing weird hairstyles for each other? Your first thought would be that they are absolutely insane. Maybe, but they are rather the hardcore!

There was a kitsch-party on Tuesday, before which we got together in order to "decorate" each other with necklaces, ties, sunglasses and earrings. It was a great fun, because we love to be together and horsing around and enjoying life. We laughed a lot at each other and ourselves as well. We made "breath-taking" headdresses for each other and we looked like funny christmas trees. We took a lot of photos there and it is quite comic seeing these insane people in those pictures. I can imagine how memorable will this event be when after a few years it turns up.

After prepairing we got to the club where the original party was to be held. There were a lot of people enjoying the "amazing" music of the 80's and 90's. But I can tell you that it was hardly as entertaining as prepairing for it.

without savvy

Last week I visited my cousin in Budapest. I also met a friend of mine, with whom we turned in a tea-room called the Zöld Teknős Barlangja. After a couple of minutes it turned out that this is a business of Kozsó.

Firstly its style was quite weird for me, because it was in a native American style with dreamcatchers hanging on the walls and feathers all around us. It was quite scenic, but the first thing that came into my mind was that how native Americans are connected to tea. After overcoming doubts I started to read the menu in order to choose.

At the bottom of every second page, short citations could be read, written by people with names like Mao Li, Hai Tse Han, etc . What was disappointing was the fact that these are not real poets from the ancient China, but the feigned names of Kozsó. This thing is more than funny. It's rather scary.

In fact, I was pleased because of my friend, we had a really good conversation'