The impulse

Streets of mud and damp
A city that wants to revamp

If I ever thought about destiny, now it has to be the right moment to do so. Four months of failure and boredom have led me to the unsure terrain of self-pity and pseudo-horrors. 'Enough!', Eger shouted, and once again offered a helping hand not just to ease the pain of my puny soul but to fix it.
So why is the guy with the coincidence tattoo is preaching about destiny? Before the dear audience loses faith in him, please hear my more-than-plausible explanation.
Jury, judge, executioner, behold.
I got a damned job, flat and scholarship within a week! Did you just conceive that? After being influenced by women (from best to worst, in that time order), chasing made-up dreams and trying to explain why my moves make sense...and convincing myself that I'm actually not screwing up everything through shitty emotionally-affected decision making, now, here, see what happens!

The only thing I miss? The impulse.

The spark that makes me write better.
The push that makes me work harder.
The small everyday miracle that makes me feel alive again.
The ignition called "love" that kickstarts the rusty pistons of my heart

Damn, god! The day you mold each and every human being and set them ready to go, what kind of job have you done with me? Look, most people need simple goals to move from A to B, like having a family, studying something, getting rich (bah) and so on. But even if some of these still motivate me (please exclude the fuck out personal fortune, thank you), I'm paralyzed without the mighty assistance of love. The cheesy, pinky, fluffy and glossy love. Let me explain this with a rather simple illustration:

And then you just let me go, sitting back in your armchair laughing. Old bastard. One day I'm coming up to you and showing that you couldn't fuck with me. Just a bit.

I'm a writer

There is a funny thing about writing. Sandor Weores, arguably one of the greatest 20th century Hungarian writers, said:

"There are only two professions that can be done without any practice: one is poetry and prose, and the other is politics."

These days I'm not willing to accept any kind of advice. Whatever people say around me I just try to pretend as if nothing happened. But this one right here has just penetrated the fragile resiliance built by my pride and ego. Just think about it! Even if you are a little emotional, you turn to writing. No, you don't have a friend there to listen, let's say your relatives aren't there to help. You didn't learn to play any instrument so that's not a choice either; you can't find peace nor the answer in nature. No, you got to stay on your ass and fix your tiny little broken heart as fast as you can. So grab your pen, your keyboard, typewriter or anything that can leave a trace! And write it out. Let the writer within just unfold! Yeah, you don't have to be taught for that; without further ado, your basic education has given you enough to know "B" comes right after "A". There are few places left on earth where writing is unknown. Thus, most of us really know how to do it.

People proclaim they are writers. Why hello there, self-proclaimed writer! What makes you really one of those classic, socitey-molding, leading, revolutionizing guys (girls)? Telling you are a writer doesn't really prove a point here. You got your diary, your blog, your collection of fancy documents, written or typed, soaked with self-hatred, passion, pain and all the usual sufferings of an average human being. So do you really think that makes you one of those people? The holy group of writers?

Fuck, it doesn't.

Loving your own words, being compassionate towards your own emotions and deeply understanding yourself doesn't imply you are a writer. Even insane people write. Serial killers write. Assholes write (OK, assholes can be writers actually, for eg. Ernest has beaten up once one of his criticizers while showing off his chest hair). And emotionally hurt people write. Furthermore, emotionally hurt, insane, asshole serial killers write. That's the lovely thing about it. Like digital cameras. You grab one and you pretend you are a professional. Take that pen! Read some guys' novels and combine the two! There you go, you are a writer now!

But as Mr Weores said earlier, politicians and writers go hand-in-hand these days. You say you are one of them, you keep on repeating it and one day people will forget you are actually nothing but just an emotionally hurt, insane, asshole serial killer. That's how things work today.

And that is, why I'm a writer.

Sagopa's Child

(this post doesn't really make sense without listening to each song at least a minute long.)

Ever heard about Sagopa Kajmer? No? And Aphrodite's Child? Anyone?
The two bond in fascinating fashion, yet Sagopa is a rapper from Turkey and the latter is a 60's band from Greece.

It all started when me and my buddies enjoyed a rare treat: getting a lift to our dorm by our teacher. A catchy tune came from the car's speakers and I dared to ask for the artist: what I got was more than a name. I got my hands on the album of Sagopa Kajmer. Well, rap doesn't really make sense when you aren't getting a word so I got bored of it quite fast yet I couldn't resist perpetually listening the following song:

This mysterious tune just resembles the waves of the Black Sea, I told myself and Sagopa's deep thoughts were merely assisting. Years after, sitting in my father's crib (yo) I took advantage of him not putting any music on, so I grabbed my phone and started the song above. Wow, the waves again!, I thought again. And wow, my father says, how come you know that? asks, coming from the other room. Impossible. How does my father know contemporary Turkish rap? So there he goes to the record player, roams through his collection, picks out one album and puts the pickup on it. Wow. Now I'm listening in awe: is that Sagopa Kajmer from a damn record? Soon enough I realize it's not the case. It's Aphrodite's Child and the Aegean Sea:

Really? The issue though isn't Sagopa stealing the whole instrumental part (rapping and dropping the beat doesn't really conceals the thievery), no. Eventually, even Kanye West had to steal from Hungarian pioneer rock band Omega. It's the whole discovery that I impersonated Sagopa's track with the Black Sea waves and here the original song comes throwing "Aegean Sea" in my face! I'm just astonished.

Furthermore, I broke my unholy relationship with Turkish rap as the only catchy song they produced was actually done 40 years before by -the otherwise much disliked- Greek guys (Vangelis, Demis Roussos anyone?). Plus I discovered another branch of progressive-psychedelic rock. Has to be the silver lining.

Echo

Am I awake?
It seems so. The air is humid, clouds cover the sky. Mountains on the coast of a sea: it can't be anything but Trabzon. I'm definitely awake.
Father arrives with his car, parks it at our house. I've been waiting for him so long! We are going to Rize, he says. He booked a hotel for both of us. Just to spend a week together. As we turn to West on the highway, I remind him that Rize is to the East but soon we arrive to the city. Am I awake?
The hotel is decent, however the receptionist asks for much more money (700 TL) than we were expecting to pay. My father argues as the booking he made was a mere 400 TL. I'm trying to convince him to pay but he calls it a folly and storms out. I'm alone again, standing at a crossing at the highway. The famous tea factory is on my left. As I cross I meet new friends of mine: people from the recent Istanbul conference I participated in. We are going somewhere, anywhere: we are all quite happy but somehow I lose them and I find myself at the seaside.
The mighty waves of Karadeniz! Rize looks like a grim Venice here, shallow and narrow canals lead into the great sea. Weird people pass me by, some are invisible (yet I'm sensing them), some are just creepy. The Black Sea is endless as always. Makes me feel I'm standing on the edge of the world. The edge of my life. The edge of... everything.
Yet somehow the scene changes once more. I'm in a shopping centre. Bit like the mix of Forum and a nameless one in Madrid. I'm with friends again though I can't remember any of them by now. A tiny, tiny little baby toddles towards me. She is awkwardly tiny, maybe the size of my hand. My mother comes forward with my brothers and she announces she's my new sister, Eva. I raise the miniature newborn and lay her small body on my shoulder. I can't see her, the glasses I occasionaly wear is splattered by dirt and water. She is just so fragile!
Faint laughter of a woman echoes from the distance: a canorous laughter it is. Sounds familiar, something from the near past, something sweet... I can't remember.
I'm at the candy shop now, choosing some gummies but the price is damn too high (5.000 HUF). I hesitate to take it, even though I don't have much money with me. And at that very moment a cold, strong voice calls out my name. What it said is hazy but I'll try to quote it correctly:

'Again you are undecided! You are so easy to influence! Look at yourself, you wanted to buy something for tenth of that price yet just because you already took it you are afraid to withdraw from your decision. You are weak to decide! Weak to change and week to live!'

Curtains.

Now, I'm definitely awake. The voice still rings in my head. And I have the weirdest feeling I've had in the past year: something has changed deep down in the roots.

Yes,  I'm awake.

Two pages

 I've reached the next level of laziness. Upon my arrival back in May I had started using our old typewriter. Now here is a tiny example of those writings (click on image for reader-friendly version or just download because two image files from my blog won't really matter on your hard drive):

A matter of belief

'Not that I really believe in things like that, but my son is a Virgo and he is so neat and clean all the time!'
'Actually I don't really think zodiacs speak the truth but I'm Taurus and I'm also a bit disorganized.'

Just witnessed this conversation today in our office. Why do people believe in the power of zodiacs? Why would we even think that 12 signs could give you a more or less correct assessment of who you really are? Chasing the naswer on a dull Sunday at the office, I'm trying to figure out the answers.

Classic astrology dates back to the age of the Babylonians. These guys had some impressive knowledge on the world surrounding them which involved many fields of science. Hence astronomy was born and the well-know zodiac, the ecliptic which is divided into twelve equal parts. However the Babylonian ladies weren't that much into the tabloid-style zodiac so the real basis of today's horoscope was laid by Greek astronomer Ptolemy. Not that he really knew where this was going: the renaissance era and the following centuries has quietly separated astronomy and astrology from each other. And as the 20th century began, Westerners started to confuse the two terms as astrology had been appearing on the last page of tabloids and other weekly papers.

So what's up with this astrology thing today? Probably those Babylonians and Ptolemy would die of instant heart attack if they'd see how the scientific astrology has shrinked to nothing. A Western citizen identifies astrology with those twelve signs that "tells you who you are"; women seriously choose partners or end relationships based on constellations; and we are just sitting here, trying to comprehend what's going on.

Despite of the lengthy lead-up, I won't answer these questions with giving a scientfic explanation for all of this. Anyhow, it's a bit like the ever-green God-debate: if one says "you can't prove that, you gotta believe/ feel it", the time you've spent trying to find precise explanations is just wasted. So yeah, astrology (modern term) is something like this: you either believe in it or just laugh at it.

Just think about it. You have 12 signs. 7 billion people on this planet (estimated 100 billion since humanity has appeared). Now, all these signs have different attributes. Leo is passionate, creative, moody (that would be me) and all the rest eleven have well-defined characteristics as well.  So you have two choices. One is to believe that these descriptions fit you, a bit pre-determining your acts. And the other is to realize how impossible it sounds to have certain features based on your zodiac sign. Say, as a Leo I can't be neat? Or I can't be organized? Or antisocial?

'Of course you can' screams the zodiac girl, saying 'your sign isn't restricting your character, it's just a basic outlay of your person'. Right, now it all makes sense. But what if my caring personality also fits Virgo? No doubt I love taking care of someone I love. So? Virgo does that as well, I'm sure other signs do it.
'Oh it's your constellation. You have a secondary sign which is responsible for secondary features.' yells the girl and I'd punch her in the face.

It's just another belief. When we evaluate someone's personality, but we have no idea why he/she acts like that, it's way too easy saying 'ah he/she's Pisces' or 'Taurus are always like that'. This astrology thing is a bit like the tiny, less dangerous form of religion. Why? Here is the explanation. Comparing 'God' and modern 'astrology':

1. You have to believe in it because
2. Scientifically there is no consensus on it
3. You explain things you don't understand with it
4. You explain other people's deeds you don't understand with it
5. It's your personal philosophy
6. You can't really work out relationships if your partner doesn't believe in it
7. You can't really work out any kind of conversations if others seem to disagree
8. The deeper you go into the topic the better/healthier/wiser you'll feel

Assembling this list I realized the same goes for global warming, Justin Bieber fans and thousands and thousands of people believing something. But before enraged readers hurl rocks at me, I must say that belief is a beautiful honour and probably the best motivation power ever! We just got to stay sane before becoming blind to see that what we believe in is crap.

Okay so here is this guy telling you wise things about belief, astrology, criticizing everything and everyone, so what does he believe in?

1. Family
2. Nature
3. god (obviously not in religious aspect)
4. Humanity (ok, not belief, more like hope...)
5. talent
6. love.
7. arts
8. túró rudi

Hope it was satisfactory. Yell and scream in comments.

Brief report about the past months

I have been most disrespectful for the past few weeks, even months. Not a single post for such a long time, and my readers just starve through this dry summer without balatony writings! Yeah it's probably not a big scarcity but here is the post you have been waiting for such a long time.

Summer is almost gone, my job is almost done here in sunny Fonyód. As september approaches, life looks hazy and unsure again. I have a little journal to collect my thoughts somewhere and an old typewriter. to complete the hipster image. Anyhow, these lines were written just to prove that I haven't given up on this writing mission of mine.

Truth be told I should be taking this mission a bit more serious. Or any mission. After finishing Hesses's Steppenwolfe lately, I had to realize I'm the same damn coyote from the book. The guy who pretends to know everything and loaths society, whereas he doesn't even differ a bit from the ones he hates. So, as I identified myself once again as a suffering character of a novel, something rang the bell. What if I just start caring? It's so fucking easy to step up for yourself, for your dreams! And faith is the only thing needed.

As I was chatting with dad (those summer evenings with a wine on the terrace) once, he said that life is in the East. And making your dreams come true won't work in the West. What he said is a really simple idea: the Western world got competetive as hell, talented people race for positions, talented people win while many lose. But little Peter, he said, you just don't have that plus motivation to compete with others. You have the talent to bloom, to fly- but only free. And your hands are bound in Europe, he said.

Is that it? Am I really that spontaneous bastard popping up in a random Eastern country and forging his own luck? I guess we'll find out soon enough. At least now it isn't a woman influencing me to make the right (wrong) move.

So hey Istanbul! I'm coming once more.