I got a song.
A song, composed, written, and played after something that is definetely beyond words.
I always wished I could play an instrument so well that I can express my emotions. Well, I'd stick with the pen. Unlike my last guest from couchsurfing.
There is that weird feeling when you meet somebody for the first time, it happens rarely, but it does happen, so you just meet and there is something special in the air, in the eyes' contact (or just we imagine it); either ways, we were both on the same wave in that very moment.
The last evening was spent by listening to our countries' traditional music (see my examples here or here), drinking beer and weaving sweet and impossible dreams regarding... anything. As the night was gone I got a promise, which is now the reason of this post: a song about these days.
Words appear to be insufficient to describe what this song tells:
https://docs.google.com/file/d/0B325QjtRfBKwdldudlFNa09GNjg/edit
(You gotta download it, no virus but there was no other way to upload... )
There is nothing more pleasing for a troubled soul to be soothed and comforted by somebody who understands without asking. A person who, if you look into her eyes you just find deep and honest kindness and limitless understanding. An endless warehouse for every bad feeling you have, every doubt and every misfit you've done before. A place where, no matter how short the time is, you can withdraw to.
Soothing days, they were. However the magic, before it could arrive, was gone.
Love as such remains a toy of those who cannot handle it.
And amongst these people it looks like I'm in a promoted position...
Ps. God dammit I HATE writing in such an unequivocal way! Words should be all equivocal, understood in several ways... sorry for this post. Probably it was too much comprehensible. The only thing worths of posting is the song. Rape the replay button.
2012. október 26., péntek
2012. október 25., csütörtök
A man is nothing but...
Just a quick thought (half of it was written during work).
Arts are the only good excuse humanity has for existing.
Arts are like religion. It tries to reach the same amorph object and channel it's truth to everyone. Religion calls it God, art calls it beauty and many other thousand words. And as all religions are trying to support our struggle through our life with different methods, all believers are looking for a divine connection to this superior, untouchable thing. Meanwhile arts don't differ much. With various methods (call it writing, painting, composing music etc.) it also makes an attempt to set up a channel between us and something that is way beyond our imagination...
As I was trying to convince myself yesterday that art is a sort of religion, holidays and rain had arrived. The stromclouds from my dream eventually teamed up and defeated the sunny days. Things are back to normal...
I'm sitting in a naked room. Chilling melodies comfort me as I sit down in front of the wall. I hold a pencil as I stare at my own writings on the lavender paint. I raise my pencil and start to write...
As my troubled mind tries to focus on writing, as religion and arts battle in my head, and as day turns into evening again, one thought emerges from the others.
A man is nothing but the product of his thoughts.As I look in the mirror I see two big eyes. Big, purple circles enframe them. A constant frown. Messy hair. Sparse beard. Average body. Careless clothing. And vertigo.
As much as I'm starting to trust myself as she asked the day before in my dream, I can still break down if I look at myself and compare the mirror's image with the one half year earlier.
Back to the wall. One day I get famous and they are going to sell this wall on an auction. Way to go, Peter! A man is nothing but the product of his thoughts...
2012. október 23., kedd
Stormclouds gather
Dreams can change my mood. Dreams can affect my thinking. Dreams have that rare ability to raise my lowered head, my powerless body from the ground. Dreams make me cry or laugh in the mornings; they influence me greatly.
I had a dream yesterday...
Before beginning, start the music below. No, I'm not making it more emotional: this song was the background music of the whole dream (if the embed won't work, try it here, here or google Clint Mansell-Death is the road to awe):
I'm at home. Szentendre, Hungary. Stormclouds are gathering outside. I have a growing fear about the immense mass of clouds. As they slowly take over the last blue spots of the sky, light diminishes. Wind blows into my face as I close the windows. They are bringing the smell of something... that I'm afraid of. Misi, my brother (he is 12 now) helps me and apparently his happiness won't be bothered by my heavy thoughts on the coming storm. Nor Andris (now 9), who keeps fooling around as he always did. My mom though feels what I feel. We are looking through the window, as the darkness deepens. We are afraid. She says something like 'we can't run away'.
The scene changes. The blanket of the clouds painted by the colors of woe is appears to be broken a bit. Sunbeams punch holes on these massive, gray bodies. I'm looking at a great landscape as I roam through a vast green field. Mountains high as I saw in Georgia and grasslands green as in Hungary, this breathtaking view transforms swiftly, as I'm only a thought which travels through the land. I arrive on the top of a skyscraper. I see a small city below, people walking on the streets and cars passing on the roads. A friend from Eger sits atop, waiting for me. I'm concerned about the storm: the clouds are a mute danger of something none of us want to experience.
'Sit down' she says. My fear grows as I feel something is approaching: it's not the storm itself but something related to it. I know somehow that my brothers are dead now. I still see my mother, this time standing in the field next to our house, eyes full of tears but looking deep into the heart of the clouds. My friend continues. 'You know you gotta jump' she says 'That's the only way of escaping'. I'm heavily disagreeing as we are at a top of a 50 storey building. I throw down a rock which clatters and breaks to pieces as it reaches the ground.
'You never trust yourself, Peter. Jumping is not death. It's trusting yourself.' I'm on the verge of crying as this thing beyond words is approaching me, as it is coming obviously for me.
I jump.
Landing easily, my feet touches the grounds, and bending my knees I get enough power to jump again- but this time to the sky. Am I flying? I... can't. I'm almost reaching her, but I fall back. As my friend looks at my receding silhouette I hear her thoughts.
'You learnt how to fall Peter. Now you know how easy it is to survive. But you won't fly now. Stay on the ground and learn how to fly. That is the real road to awe.'
(...)
My eyes pop out. The music still plays in my head. My eyes are soaked with tears. What was this? My chosen road is sending me an approval message? Or tries to scare me away?
I'm not tired although I was for the previous two months for every morning. My mind is clean as if it was lyed with the liquid of true vision. I dry up my eyes. It has to be cold out there, I'm freezing...
I pull the curtain aside.
Stormclouds are gathering outside. I feel patient as I look at them. As they slowly take over the last blue spots of the sky, light diminishes...
I step to street and wind blows into my face.
I had a dream yesterday...
Before beginning, start the music below. No, I'm not making it more emotional: this song was the background music of the whole dream (if the embed won't work, try it here, here or google Clint Mansell-Death is the road to awe):
I'm at home. Szentendre, Hungary. Stormclouds are gathering outside. I have a growing fear about the immense mass of clouds. As they slowly take over the last blue spots of the sky, light diminishes. Wind blows into my face as I close the windows. They are bringing the smell of something... that I'm afraid of. Misi, my brother (he is 12 now) helps me and apparently his happiness won't be bothered by my heavy thoughts on the coming storm. Nor Andris (now 9), who keeps fooling around as he always did. My mom though feels what I feel. We are looking through the window, as the darkness deepens. We are afraid. She says something like 'we can't run away'.
The scene changes. The blanket of the clouds painted by the colors of woe is appears to be broken a bit. Sunbeams punch holes on these massive, gray bodies. I'm looking at a great landscape as I roam through a vast green field. Mountains high as I saw in Georgia and grasslands green as in Hungary, this breathtaking view transforms swiftly, as I'm only a thought which travels through the land. I arrive on the top of a skyscraper. I see a small city below, people walking on the streets and cars passing on the roads. A friend from Eger sits atop, waiting for me. I'm concerned about the storm: the clouds are a mute danger of something none of us want to experience.
'Sit down' she says. My fear grows as I feel something is approaching: it's not the storm itself but something related to it. I know somehow that my brothers are dead now. I still see my mother, this time standing in the field next to our house, eyes full of tears but looking deep into the heart of the clouds. My friend continues. 'You know you gotta jump' she says 'That's the only way of escaping'. I'm heavily disagreeing as we are at a top of a 50 storey building. I throw down a rock which clatters and breaks to pieces as it reaches the ground.
'You never trust yourself, Peter. Jumping is not death. It's trusting yourself.' I'm on the verge of crying as this thing beyond words is approaching me, as it is coming obviously for me.
I jump.
Landing easily, my feet touches the grounds, and bending my knees I get enough power to jump again- but this time to the sky. Am I flying? I... can't. I'm almost reaching her, but I fall back. As my friend looks at my receding silhouette I hear her thoughts.
'You learnt how to fall Peter. Now you know how easy it is to survive. But you won't fly now. Stay on the ground and learn how to fly. That is the real road to awe.'
(...)
My eyes pop out. The music still plays in my head. My eyes are soaked with tears. What was this? My chosen road is sending me an approval message? Or tries to scare me away?
I'm not tired although I was for the previous two months for every morning. My mind is clean as if it was lyed with the liquid of true vision. I dry up my eyes. It has to be cold out there, I'm freezing...
I pull the curtain aside.
Stormclouds are gathering outside. I feel patient as I look at them. As they slowly take over the last blue spots of the sky, light diminishes...
I step to street and wind blows into my face.
2012. október 21., vasárnap
Song to the fishermen of Trabzon
Sundays have been promoted recently to the 'only day I can sleep and do whatever I want' status. Since it's the only day off during the whole year, the pressure is so big to decide what valuable thing should I do that eventually I end up doing nothing.
Today was something similar. The pigeons in our balcony woke me up at 6 and chased me to the living room where I added an extra 6 hours of sleeping, so half of the day was fucked already. After some cleaning the awesome idea came: let's go out to the seaside and write! Sunshine, gentle wind, late-autumn but still enjoyable in a shirt. So, camera grabbed, book and pen check, 10 mins and I'm at the coast.
Found a great rock, stretch a bit, sunbath, ... ready.
'God has a good sense of humor' says my father always, and as I try to write down the first word ('Vertigo') the pen runs out of ink. Pulling this joke on my only free day, when the scenery is set is at least as mean as living through the previous two months.
But my newly acquired confidence shall not tremble by such a puny effort from chance. Clicking almost a full film roll, I'm strolling up and down on the coast, singing random bitter rock songs, and thinking, thinking,...
I always believed we are getting better and wiser persons by studying. Thanks to this view, when I failed in doing or learning something, the failure left a bitter taste in my mouth. One of these things is not learning French nor Spanish despite of the chances. But then it made me wonder: do we really have to learn everything? Does studying hard make us better persons?
I like to believe that it doesn't. After the compulsory education the only thing we should know which way we'll choose. And studying/ working may help us find the way, but as Hunter S. Thompson said, I believe that truth is not being taught during the normal work hours. Life is not happening during the daily routine. Life just flows in a comfortable pace, no excitement nor adventure.
But life gets crazy and unexpected once we dare to dream, once we dare to make a move...
After the previous post I just realized that since I'm not in the compulsory education (graduating from high school), the only thing I never gave up doing was my blog. I struggled learning the guitar, drawing with coal, paying attention in class, setting up my carreer as a journalist, loving women etc. But that stupid, discursive collection of my thoughts is just not willing to dry up. And as it bloats, it's just too big to ignore. Six years is a long time and as much as I hate my inconsistency in everything (love and studies were always in a promoted position), I just realized that there is a still point in my life.
As my best friend said, the way from here just getting harder. What was a not much serious thing, just levelled up and will face much rougher criticism, complaint and possibly extinction as well. And thus, as he added, from now on I shouldnt have doubts, just walk the straight line and never look back.
I really don't know where will I end up. May I starve for years, become homeless, face constant refusals regarding what I produce. But there won't be anything sweeter than walking the way I was secretly wishing for.
As my brainstorming was over, I just realized I'm still singing, and some fishermen look at me at a really weird way (imagine a hobo-looking guy taking pictures of you while singing with an extremely false voice). Laughing out loud, after months, honestly, looking at their dumb faces I turned back and whistled all the way.
Now, with my over-confidence I made a mistake I'm usually doing over and over. I start to expect people to be wiser, more open-minded etc. In general, I believe on a sunny sunday afternoon everyone should be outside, singing and taking photos of shocked fisherman. So as I enter Forum, looking for a bag for my camera, imagine the shock of seeing the horde of zombies, spending their only free hours by crowding themselves in a giant tin, doing the same turns, spending the money, and obviously, totally lacking the willingness for taking photos of shocked fishermen while singing in a false voice (yes I'm really evil and judging, eventually I was shopping also).
It's amazing how fast my endless compassionate towards all human beings can turn into fury and hatred. Anyways, got my bag, headed out of the suffocating tin of ordinary people, the selfish self-proclaimed writer arrives home.
The sun went down as he types the last words; and as he transforms back to the ordinary guy who they need from Monday to Saturday. No problem, maybe next time a better Sunday will come. And the fishermen will cheerfully sing the false songs with me.
Today was something similar. The pigeons in our balcony woke me up at 6 and chased me to the living room where I added an extra 6 hours of sleeping, so half of the day was fucked already. After some cleaning the awesome idea came: let's go out to the seaside and write! Sunshine, gentle wind, late-autumn but still enjoyable in a shirt. So, camera grabbed, book and pen check, 10 mins and I'm at the coast.
Found a great rock, stretch a bit, sunbath, ... ready.
'God has a good sense of humor' says my father always, and as I try to write down the first word ('Vertigo') the pen runs out of ink. Pulling this joke on my only free day, when the scenery is set is at least as mean as living through the previous two months.
But my newly acquired confidence shall not tremble by such a puny effort from chance. Clicking almost a full film roll, I'm strolling up and down on the coast, singing random bitter rock songs, and thinking, thinking,...
I always believed we are getting better and wiser persons by studying. Thanks to this view, when I failed in doing or learning something, the failure left a bitter taste in my mouth. One of these things is not learning French nor Spanish despite of the chances. But then it made me wonder: do we really have to learn everything? Does studying hard make us better persons?
I like to believe that it doesn't. After the compulsory education the only thing we should know which way we'll choose. And studying/ working may help us find the way, but as Hunter S. Thompson said, I believe that truth is not being taught during the normal work hours. Life is not happening during the daily routine. Life just flows in a comfortable pace, no excitement nor adventure.
But life gets crazy and unexpected once we dare to dream, once we dare to make a move...
After the previous post I just realized that since I'm not in the compulsory education (graduating from high school), the only thing I never gave up doing was my blog. I struggled learning the guitar, drawing with coal, paying attention in class, setting up my carreer as a journalist, loving women etc. But that stupid, discursive collection of my thoughts is just not willing to dry up. And as it bloats, it's just too big to ignore. Six years is a long time and as much as I hate my inconsistency in everything (love and studies were always in a promoted position), I just realized that there is a still point in my life.
As my best friend said, the way from here just getting harder. What was a not much serious thing, just levelled up and will face much rougher criticism, complaint and possibly extinction as well. And thus, as he added, from now on I shouldnt have doubts, just walk the straight line and never look back.
I really don't know where will I end up. May I starve for years, become homeless, face constant refusals regarding what I produce. But there won't be anything sweeter than walking the way I was secretly wishing for.
As my brainstorming was over, I just realized I'm still singing, and some fishermen look at me at a really weird way (imagine a hobo-looking guy taking pictures of you while singing with an extremely false voice). Laughing out loud, after months, honestly, looking at their dumb faces I turned back and whistled all the way.
Now, with my over-confidence I made a mistake I'm usually doing over and over. I start to expect people to be wiser, more open-minded etc. In general, I believe on a sunny sunday afternoon everyone should be outside, singing and taking photos of shocked fisherman. So as I enter Forum, looking for a bag for my camera, imagine the shock of seeing the horde of zombies, spending their only free hours by crowding themselves in a giant tin, doing the same turns, spending the money, and obviously, totally lacking the willingness for taking photos of shocked fishermen while singing in a false voice (yes I'm really evil and judging, eventually I was shopping also).
It's amazing how fast my endless compassionate towards all human beings can turn into fury and hatred. Anyways, got my bag, headed out of the suffocating tin of ordinary people, the selfish self-proclaimed writer arrives home.
The sun went down as he types the last words; and as he transforms back to the ordinary guy who they need from Monday to Saturday. No problem, maybe next time a better Sunday will come. And the fishermen will cheerfully sing the false songs with me.
2012. október 19., péntek
Lessons learnt, mission made.
The past two months were full with ups and downs (mostly downs,duh), and during these troubled days only the following worn-out sentence kept me going:
Well, as we'd expect it, there is no bottom end and shit can get worse. Before learning it on my own, my dearest recent surfer from New Zealand warned me that my theory was faulty. Now, admitting that I've crossed the 'hopeless' line in my downfall, I stopped for a second. What could be a man's last, desperate glimmer of hope? The straw that eventually proves itself strong enough to pull him out the mess he created? This post will make an attempt on answering the question.
I had my first adult speaking class this week. Roaming through various topics, we ended up at religion. Given that all my students were moslims, the conversation turned out to be a kind of 'convince Peter about his beliefs/make him forget about his disbeliefs'. But I made a shortcut and even surprsising myself, I ended the class with these words (give or take):
'No matter what we believe in, which God we support or ideas we fancy, there is always a moment in our lives when we are down. And life looks so grim that we can't see because of our sufferings. And we cry out for somebody, something, a superhuman being, a kind creature who listens to our pain and sooths us, placing it's hands gently on our shoulders, and whispering 'You can get up now'. And suddenly, things turn around and we get our confidence back, our motivation, our emotions and everything is fixed.'
Needless to say how selfish ending it was, but my own words rang a bell in my head. Are we strong enough to fight our way, even during a constant and obvious decline?
We have to be. It's not a choice we make. We gotta find a passion, a hobby, a love, a friend, a job, a god, anything, that keeps us focus and organized. Religion is not the only lighthouse in our world to guide us through the pitch black which we created by blowing out the candles.
I feel like the moment has come in my life when writing can't be a hobby anymore. I'm bare naked now, stripped from my family, love, friends, country, happiness; I put myself into the situation. This has to be the very moment when smudging my shit won't work anymore. When turning to the past, to the comfort, to the guided childhood would be a fool's errand.
Well, fuck it then.
It's time to play my game as I always wanted but as I never could, never dared. Clearly. No smudge, no blur anywhere: just the perfection of a diamond shall shine through. May this diamond be small, low-value; but it'd be true.
And being honest and true is beyond everything in this life. And from now on... so as writing.
When you reach the bottom end, there is nowhere to go. Shit can't get worse from a point.
Well, as we'd expect it, there is no bottom end and shit can get worse. Before learning it on my own, my dearest recent surfer from New Zealand warned me that my theory was faulty. Now, admitting that I've crossed the 'hopeless' line in my downfall, I stopped for a second. What could be a man's last, desperate glimmer of hope? The straw that eventually proves itself strong enough to pull him out the mess he created? This post will make an attempt on answering the question.
I had my first adult speaking class this week. Roaming through various topics, we ended up at religion. Given that all my students were moslims, the conversation turned out to be a kind of 'convince Peter about his beliefs/make him forget about his disbeliefs'. But I made a shortcut and even surprsising myself, I ended the class with these words (give or take):
'No matter what we believe in, which God we support or ideas we fancy, there is always a moment in our lives when we are down. And life looks so grim that we can't see because of our sufferings. And we cry out for somebody, something, a superhuman being, a kind creature who listens to our pain and sooths us, placing it's hands gently on our shoulders, and whispering 'You can get up now'. And suddenly, things turn around and we get our confidence back, our motivation, our emotions and everything is fixed.'
Needless to say how selfish ending it was, but my own words rang a bell in my head. Are we strong enough to fight our way, even during a constant and obvious decline?
We have to be. It's not a choice we make. We gotta find a passion, a hobby, a love, a friend, a job, a god, anything, that keeps us focus and organized. Religion is not the only lighthouse in our world to guide us through the pitch black which we created by blowing out the candles.
I feel like the moment has come in my life when writing can't be a hobby anymore. I'm bare naked now, stripped from my family, love, friends, country, happiness; I put myself into the situation. This has to be the very moment when smudging my shit won't work anymore. When turning to the past, to the comfort, to the guided childhood would be a fool's errand.
Well, fuck it then.
It's time to play my game as I always wanted but as I never could, never dared. Clearly. No smudge, no blur anywhere: just the perfection of a diamond shall shine through. May this diamond be small, low-value; but it'd be true.
And being honest and true is beyond everything in this life. And from now on... so as writing.
2012. október 9., kedd
Passage
It happened so many times before.
When I felt down upon myself, when there was no way out of the murky mass of woe. Or when it was just a rainy day. When things didn't work out as I'd like them to work. So, when I'm depressed enough, it just happens: a familiar tune, a melody that I've been listening to for almost two decades, happens to show me something new.
The world out there stops to look so fucking grim. The rain suddenly changes from showering sadness to an eery curtain. I don't want to hide from it anymore, but rush through to see what is behind. I hit the wall earlier so what would scare me?
These tunes and the smell of change in the air of Trabzon confirmed again the only truth I encounter in my life, over and over:
No matter how hard you try, study, work, to earn a better position, money, wife, family, stature, knowledge, etc. it's all in vain. People, in a long shot, won't give a shit about you. All your greatest accomplishments will fade, because they are typical, thousands and thousands want it as well. Your footstep is small and remains unnoticed as long as you are tracing the people in front of you. But eventhough your footstep can't be bigger, paving the new track makes it unique, but most importantly: eternal.
How many human beings born and die with following schemes and patterns, designed by society and the painful memory of history. And how few is the number of those who are breaking through. Who refuse to follow. Now,... this is the only thing we should live for. Give the world something that nobody can repeat. Give the example for the next generations by not following the examples...
And the curtain obediently stretches wide, as we pass through. That's why I love rain; that's why I love writing; and that's why I love this life.
When I felt down upon myself, when there was no way out of the murky mass of woe. Or when it was just a rainy day. When things didn't work out as I'd like them to work. So, when I'm depressed enough, it just happens: a familiar tune, a melody that I've been listening to for almost two decades, happens to show me something new.
The world out there stops to look so fucking grim. The rain suddenly changes from showering sadness to an eery curtain. I don't want to hide from it anymore, but rush through to see what is behind. I hit the wall earlier so what would scare me?
These tunes and the smell of change in the air of Trabzon confirmed again the only truth I encounter in my life, over and over:
No matter how hard you try, study, work, to earn a better position, money, wife, family, stature, knowledge, etc. it's all in vain. People, in a long shot, won't give a shit about you. All your greatest accomplishments will fade, because they are typical, thousands and thousands want it as well. Your footstep is small and remains unnoticed as long as you are tracing the people in front of you. But eventhough your footstep can't be bigger, paving the new track makes it unique, but most importantly: eternal.
How many human beings born and die with following schemes and patterns, designed by society and the painful memory of history. And how few is the number of those who are breaking through. Who refuse to follow. Now,... this is the only thing we should live for. Give the world something that nobody can repeat. Give the example for the next generations by not following the examples...
And the curtain obediently stretches wide, as we pass through. That's why I love rain; that's why I love writing; and that's why I love this life.
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