Afterlife. The promise of paradise. Fuck it, who needs paradise. Just afterlife. The word tells you everything. When you die, you do not actually die. You continue existing. You had so much fun that it has to become everlasting. Right?
Your carcass will be left on Earth; your soul, conveniently shaped just the way you looked liked during your life, will float to the eternal lands of Afterlife.
I am not describing any religious, whimsical archetype of heaven or paradise. I am proud enough to create my own little afterlife scenario. To demonstrate how admittance works, I present you a generic conversation. The protagonist walks up to a shiny, golden gate with a woman on guard; this woman should be the protagonist's mundane love.
I. Entrance
- Heaven seems prettier with you.
- Oh, shut up Abel.
- So what's the catch? I'm confessing my sins and you let me enter heaven?
- Right on the spot, as always. Well, if you want to enter, you gotta bend me over and take me from behind as you never did before.
- Ha! That doesn't sound appropriate, though I'm getting a sluggish boner here...
- So what are you waiting for? Take me and enter!
- No, wait a sec' hon'. This is a test. I knew it! Shit, you are the devil himself...
- Abel, your sexual need is encrypted in your DNA. Devil isn't. Heaven isn't.
- And yet I'm here at the gates of heaven.
- Well, I wouldn't say it's heaven...
- But I died. This is some kind of afterlife, and...
- Abel! These clouds floating around would never fuck me. Please, don't let me hanging here.
- I'm a bit disappointed with this afterlife thing. It's not like I don't appreciate the idea of having sex with you in order to enter, but still...
- So what the hell you expected? Saint Peter evaluating your life? Fanfares and angels accompanying on your way to heaven? Meeting your beloved ones? Chatting with Einstein about relativity? Bullshit! You just make that up down there. That life is nothing more than reproducing your species.
- Why on earth I would like entering heaven then? What's in for me?
- Actually, there is no option. You don't even have to fuck me... I'm just a little bored here. I have to let you in anyhow.
- Let me in, then.
- There you go.
- Oh! And what will I find?
- The transfer.
- The what?
- The transfer. Your performance will be evaluated, then you will receive a grade, and according to your total production, they send you back.
- What the hell? Did the Wachowski brothers write this shit? And what performance?
- Your performance regarding reproduction. I'm not familiar with your score, but I heard you weren't doing great...
- What the fuck is that suppose to mean?
- Well, you had no children, you slept with several women but failed to impregnate any. Probably you will be dropped somewhere in Europe. You know, ageing society and all...
- Okay just let me pass.
II. Transfer
Abel arrives at the transfer. His father welcomes him with a jolly smile.
- Father?
- Abel! You son of a bitch, you die and our lineage dries up as a puddle of semen on the carpet!
- I guess I wasn't expecting that, father...
- The hell cares, you whiny bastard! Now, you heard how it goes.
- What?
- The transfer.
- Oh, she told me something but...
- She knows it well enough. I'll pick you a country and a family. I hope you won't disappoint them!
- To hell with all this, father! I just died and you are sending me back to Earth just to reproduce?
- Right as you say.
- This is insane.
- Not being able to impregnate anyone is insane! When I got here I was transferred to fuckin' China! You know why? Birth control! They found out that I reproduced myself too frequently. So they barred me the next time by sending me to China! Ha, idiots! The next time I was here, they registered me as a unique predicament!
- That is downright wicked. Father, if life's sole meaning is to reproduce your genome, I would very much prefer to stay here and listen to your mighty saga on inseminating every country around the globe.
- Son, stop being a pussy. Life's sole meaning is indeed to reproduce your genom. But luckily our brains have evolved a lot, making us capable for doing a little tinkering between two intercourses. Science, arts, religion, politics, sports, some prefer fighting in wars; you are spoilt for choice when it comes to filling up your free time. Just keep in mind what your initial goal is.
- So where is the end of the cycle?
- Until our free time activities exterminate our species.
- And how will I remember my goal?
- You won't. Your memory is erased. You'll start over. Format C, if you know what I mean.
- Father... I'm disappointed.
- Oh quit griping, you miserable ass! You've always taken shit too serious. Okay, let's see where they send you...
- They? Who are they? Are they any similar to some deities?
- No time to explain that son. Your ticket has arrived.
- What does it say?
- I can't tell you that. Now, close your eyes and start spinning around...
- Really?
- Nope, I was joking. Stay put. I'll touch your forehead, and then everything will reset.
III. Arrival
Hospital corridor, young man is sitting on a fridge-like object. Nurse rushes out.
- Young man! You are a father now! He was born just a few minutes before!
- And my wife?
- She struggled a lot, but feels fine. Want to see them?
He wants, surely. He never knew how it will feel like. He rushes in the hospital room, his wife sleeping, and a tiny little package, neatly covered with blanket next to her.
- There you are!
- Sir? Sorry to bother... but what would be his name?
- The same as his father. The same as his father...
2014. december 27., szombat
2014. november 28., péntek
Purple haze
I don't know if it happened during daylight.
I don't even know which day it was.
It was just the moment that mattered. It was the haze of now that wove its loose yet impenetrable web around the two of us, even though dozens were in the very same room. It did not matter. It was the intagible entanglement of two; the undisputed beauty of a couple that would meet the first time.
That was me and you, with the web around, and the promise of intangible turning into tangible.
What a fucking failure.
Oh, I got no fancy words for that. You can't say it was solely a failure. You got to make it more vulgar. People don't care about failures; they only care about fucked up failures. And hell, we excelled in that!
Eventually there was something we excelled in.
Oh yeah, baby. We did. I'd love to blame only you, though. Yet, we did it. Oh, your name? You are saying I can't remember your name? That might be true, actually. I gave you names all the time, that was fun. But I can't recall your name. Were you one person? When did it happen? My first year in Eger? Second? Third? Has it happened every single damned year? It might be the case.
How pitiful.
Dear Reader! Don't blame me. As a sentimental creature, I do enjoy the seductive, elusive phenomena of the purple haze. And I'm surrendering for it over and over. Do you remember the story of Achilles? Upon his birth her mother, Tethis dipped the baby into river Styx which flows through the domain of the dead, granting his child invincibility. Well, she did forget to dip his son twice, thus his ankles were easily exposed to harm and which, eventually caused the hero's fall. Using a clumsy comparison, my mother (aka. Anna) dipped me into the unknown river of self pity, made me bath within the waves of frailty, threw me down the foams of insecurity, and then dried me above the geyser of tenacity. Big difference is, my mom didn't forget to exclude any body part while these moments of early-age child abuse, so practically I've become a life-size, walking and talking Achilles heel.
And then you were there, sensed this product of an unfortunate constellation of the stars, and without learning that his name is Peter, you already knew that your hypnotic gaze would be too much for him to handle. I mean, you could have even farted the purple haze, I'd have still fallen for you.
Oh, yes. So I did.
But the thing is- my mother must have concealed it-, I was also thrown into the ocean of obstinacy. Hell, I enjoyed it! And now, with all the woe and self-pity you induced,
I'm finding peace through stubbornness.
I'm finding Her through this mess.
Has it happened before? Is it happening again? The pattern repeats itself, so the labels don't matter; only the trajectory counts. And the direction is upward.
Leading out of the haze.
I don't even know which day it was.
It was just the moment that mattered. It was the haze of now that wove its loose yet impenetrable web around the two of us, even though dozens were in the very same room. It did not matter. It was the intagible entanglement of two; the undisputed beauty of a couple that would meet the first time.
That was me and you, with the web around, and the promise of intangible turning into tangible.
What a fucking failure.
Oh, I got no fancy words for that. You can't say it was solely a failure. You got to make it more vulgar. People don't care about failures; they only care about fucked up failures. And hell, we excelled in that!
Eventually there was something we excelled in.
Oh yeah, baby. We did. I'd love to blame only you, though. Yet, we did it. Oh, your name? You are saying I can't remember your name? That might be true, actually. I gave you names all the time, that was fun. But I can't recall your name. Were you one person? When did it happen? My first year in Eger? Second? Third? Has it happened every single damned year? It might be the case.
How pitiful.
Dear Reader! Don't blame me. As a sentimental creature, I do enjoy the seductive, elusive phenomena of the purple haze. And I'm surrendering for it over and over. Do you remember the story of Achilles? Upon his birth her mother, Tethis dipped the baby into river Styx which flows through the domain of the dead, granting his child invincibility. Well, she did forget to dip his son twice, thus his ankles were easily exposed to harm and which, eventually caused the hero's fall. Using a clumsy comparison, my mother (aka. Anna) dipped me into the unknown river of self pity, made me bath within the waves of frailty, threw me down the foams of insecurity, and then dried me above the geyser of tenacity. Big difference is, my mom didn't forget to exclude any body part while these moments of early-age child abuse, so practically I've become a life-size, walking and talking Achilles heel.
And then you were there, sensed this product of an unfortunate constellation of the stars, and without learning that his name is Peter, you already knew that your hypnotic gaze would be too much for him to handle. I mean, you could have even farted the purple haze, I'd have still fallen for you.
Oh, yes. So I did.
But the thing is- my mother must have concealed it-, I was also thrown into the ocean of obstinacy. Hell, I enjoyed it! And now, with all the woe and self-pity you induced,
I'm finding peace through stubbornness.
I'm finding Her through this mess.
Has it happened before? Is it happening again? The pattern repeats itself, so the labels don't matter; only the trajectory counts. And the direction is upward.
Leading out of the haze.
2014. november 16., vasárnap
Vacuum cleaner
Two guys sit on the balcony. Tenth floor, cold wind whistles through barely opened windowlids. Their appearance resembles a lot; one is smoking and heavily gesticulating with the cigarette, while the other quietly gazes at the sky.
'See, that's what I'm talking about! Hear that tune? That jaw-dropping guitar solo? I mean, it's like a lovechild of Mike Oldfield, Robert Fripp and Frusciante. Pure magic. I wish I could just suck in all the world out there. If you know what I mean. As if I was a giant vacuum cleaner that sorts out the good stuff. I aim, and then I just inhale all this fairy dust around me! The cigarette, the wind, the solo, and even you, apparently not giving a fuck about all this.'
He indeed appears to be not giving a fuck about all that, as he continues staring into the distance.
'You and your quiet wisdom! All you like is sitting and staring, as if silent thinking has ever made anyone smarter. Well, maybe it has, but you know what: I prefer doing it. My moments of silence are like this. Fine, I'm speaking, but meanwhile I'm turning on this giant vacuum cleaner. I eat up the useful stuff, suck up the knowledge that is out there for the taking.'
The other guy faintly smiles.
'Now that smirk confirms what I've just said. You really think you are smarter. Fuck off, dude.'
'I don't think I'm smart.'
He slowly raises his shoulders, stretches his back before continuing.
'I only think that you think you are smart. And that is mildly disturbing if you consider what we've reached in our lives so far.'
'Are we having that discussion again? The I've-done-more-than-you-have-ever-dreamt-of argument?'
'I'm simply pointing out that you prefer talking instead of acting.'
'Fuck off. I've traveled the globe. I've slept with so many women that not getting any STD is probably even more miraculous than the achievement itself. I've worked in dozens of countries, and I've written uncountable pages which will do perfect for my future memoir about these years. While you have gotten your diplomas and a comfortable life with a well-paid job an a caring wife. Come on, dude. Tell me you aren't bored and I shut my mouth.'
'I'm perfectly elated with my life, thank you. Though I'm slightly concerned about my friend's perspective about his own things.'
'You, sitting atop the throne of judgement. Tell me why I should do the same as you do. Tell me why it's so comfortable there.'
'First, I'm not up there, and you aren't lesser either. Second, you are a child. Dreaming is cool as long as you keep on making them real. You don't have to get any degree, if that doesn't satisfy you. Keep traveling! But then make good use of it.'
'I'm making good use of it, dude. Here I am, understanding everything with my vacuum cleaner, while you are comforting your ass in that tiny bubble you calle life.'
'All you have is experience. Without making use of it, you have some intangible mumbo-jumbo that definitely gets you the pussy but nothing more.'
'Pussies tell a life's story, bro. Oh wait, you've got to know just one! I'm so sorry for you.'
'You are being childish.'
'And you are just jealous.'
'Surely I am.'
'Fuck off, you arrogant prick! Why the hell would I expect any kind of understanding?'
'If understanding is what you expect, then coming here was in vain.'
'You really start to piss me off, dude. I came here to chill, and to exchange thoughts...'
'We did exactly that, until you...'
'Until I? You know what? I should be leaving now.'
Jumps on his feet and bursts out to the flat. As he storms through the dark room, a child starts crying. He freezes for a moment; another figure emerges from the darkness of the room.
'Are you already leaving?'
'Anna? Yes. It has been a long trip, and I need some rest.'
'Oh. Okay. Glad to have you back. He also missed you a lot.'
'Thanks. I must be on my way, Anna. Be good!'
'Bye!'
He leaves the flat. As he gets into the elevator, he stares at himself in the mirror. His mouth widens for a grin, with its corners so shaky that it's unclear how his grimace will look like.
The picture fades to black, and we hear two lengthy sob; as if a giant vacuum cleaner was trying to clean up what we've witnessed.
'See, that's what I'm talking about! Hear that tune? That jaw-dropping guitar solo? I mean, it's like a lovechild of Mike Oldfield, Robert Fripp and Frusciante. Pure magic. I wish I could just suck in all the world out there. If you know what I mean. As if I was a giant vacuum cleaner that sorts out the good stuff. I aim, and then I just inhale all this fairy dust around me! The cigarette, the wind, the solo, and even you, apparently not giving a fuck about all this.'
He indeed appears to be not giving a fuck about all that, as he continues staring into the distance.
'You and your quiet wisdom! All you like is sitting and staring, as if silent thinking has ever made anyone smarter. Well, maybe it has, but you know what: I prefer doing it. My moments of silence are like this. Fine, I'm speaking, but meanwhile I'm turning on this giant vacuum cleaner. I eat up the useful stuff, suck up the knowledge that is out there for the taking.'
The other guy faintly smiles.
'Now that smirk confirms what I've just said. You really think you are smarter. Fuck off, dude.'
'I don't think I'm smart.'
He slowly raises his shoulders, stretches his back before continuing.
'I only think that you think you are smart. And that is mildly disturbing if you consider what we've reached in our lives so far.'
'Are we having that discussion again? The I've-done-more-than-you-have-ever-dreamt-of argument?'
'I'm simply pointing out that you prefer talking instead of acting.'
'Fuck off. I've traveled the globe. I've slept with so many women that not getting any STD is probably even more miraculous than the achievement itself. I've worked in dozens of countries, and I've written uncountable pages which will do perfect for my future memoir about these years. While you have gotten your diplomas and a comfortable life with a well-paid job an a caring wife. Come on, dude. Tell me you aren't bored and I shut my mouth.'
'I'm perfectly elated with my life, thank you. Though I'm slightly concerned about my friend's perspective about his own things.'
'You, sitting atop the throne of judgement. Tell me why I should do the same as you do. Tell me why it's so comfortable there.'
'First, I'm not up there, and you aren't lesser either. Second, you are a child. Dreaming is cool as long as you keep on making them real. You don't have to get any degree, if that doesn't satisfy you. Keep traveling! But then make good use of it.'
'I'm making good use of it, dude. Here I am, understanding everything with my vacuum cleaner, while you are comforting your ass in that tiny bubble you calle life.'
'All you have is experience. Without making use of it, you have some intangible mumbo-jumbo that definitely gets you the pussy but nothing more.'
'Pussies tell a life's story, bro. Oh wait, you've got to know just one! I'm so sorry for you.'
'You are being childish.'
'And you are just jealous.'
'Surely I am.'
'Fuck off, you arrogant prick! Why the hell would I expect any kind of understanding?'
'If understanding is what you expect, then coming here was in vain.'
'You really start to piss me off, dude. I came here to chill, and to exchange thoughts...'
'We did exactly that, until you...'
'Until I? You know what? I should be leaving now.'
Jumps on his feet and bursts out to the flat. As he storms through the dark room, a child starts crying. He freezes for a moment; another figure emerges from the darkness of the room.
'Are you already leaving?'
'Anna? Yes. It has been a long trip, and I need some rest.'
'Oh. Okay. Glad to have you back. He also missed you a lot.'
'Thanks. I must be on my way, Anna. Be good!'
'Bye!'
He leaves the flat. As he gets into the elevator, he stares at himself in the mirror. His mouth widens for a grin, with its corners so shaky that it's unclear how his grimace will look like.
The picture fades to black, and we hear two lengthy sob; as if a giant vacuum cleaner was trying to clean up what we've witnessed.
2014. október 9., csütörtök
Creep
It was one of those mornings again. You open your eyes and think something is different.
If I was beautiful...
But I wasn't. I knew I was a creep. I didn't even have to look in the mirror. It wasn't a case of 'she is beautiful and I'm not'. It wasn't actually a case of 'she'.
If you are a creep, there is no 'she'.
So I was a creep, but I got used to it through the years.
My childhood, naturally, was hard, as it's always hard for a frail soul to realize that he is a creep.
As I grew, my features as a creep got more and more apparent and obvious. Odd enough, my environment didn't find it sickening (as I normally did) but rather attractive; and even though I was the creepiest creep around, I was surrounded by 'shes'.
I did, however, see myself as I was, as I am now. I knew the truth and I never tried hiding it, but they didn't seem to care. I whispered words dripping with poison, soaked with verity into their ears, mouth and all over their bodies. I never missed a chance to tell them what I was; but then they just hugged me stronger, clinched on me and bit my neck. They called me a liar and kissed with passion.
They just didn't get it.
But what did I whisper? What was the poison? Anything, really. Me as a creep initially meant being completely indifferent towards them. So I normally complimented the features I disliked about them. If she was short, blonde, curvy or not, ugly or pretty, dumb or smart, didn't matter; I always chose the thing that annoyed me the most, and I kept on mocking it.
I guess it's easy to see how they didn't see that I was a creep. They loved that I love their least likeable features. They loved me no matter what. Oh, how naive they were! They never saw the creep toying with them, but the man taking good care and making them feel like a woman. This was my prize, dipped into perversion and forged by obsolescence. I already had hundreds of these trophies, but my hunger couldn't be satisfied, not even a bit.
I must admit though, that some of them did manage to penetrate my disguise.
They were the ones who knew that I was a creep. There were only three of them, all three differing from the other, all eager to love, but most importantly, to consume me.
I hated them. I lost my game from day one, the veil covering my true self was gone and I was exposed to their irresistible seductive powers.
I didn't kiss, hug, fuck, love or hate them; we did it, together. The creep within climbed to the surface, sunbathing in the beams of togethereness. I felt pathetic for letting it happen, but I was defeated. So when they were gone, and I was I again, I sank in the comfortable, fluffy fortress I had been building through my life, and I happily realized that it just got stronger and harder to overcome.
Those were the moments of pride, the moments of joy; when I got the joystick of my life back in my hands. And the game just went on, it still goes on; and I know that one day the disguise will be completed and I can declare that I'm the most gorgeous creep who ever walked this planet.
If I was beautiful...
But I wasn't. I knew I was a creep. I didn't even have to look in the mirror. It wasn't a case of 'she is beautiful and I'm not'. It wasn't actually a case of 'she'.
If you are a creep, there is no 'she'.
So I was a creep, but I got used to it through the years.
My childhood, naturally, was hard, as it's always hard for a frail soul to realize that he is a creep.
As I grew, my features as a creep got more and more apparent and obvious. Odd enough, my environment didn't find it sickening (as I normally did) but rather attractive; and even though I was the creepiest creep around, I was surrounded by 'shes'.
I did, however, see myself as I was, as I am now. I knew the truth and I never tried hiding it, but they didn't seem to care. I whispered words dripping with poison, soaked with verity into their ears, mouth and all over their bodies. I never missed a chance to tell them what I was; but then they just hugged me stronger, clinched on me and bit my neck. They called me a liar and kissed with passion.
They just didn't get it.
But what did I whisper? What was the poison? Anything, really. Me as a creep initially meant being completely indifferent towards them. So I normally complimented the features I disliked about them. If she was short, blonde, curvy or not, ugly or pretty, dumb or smart, didn't matter; I always chose the thing that annoyed me the most, and I kept on mocking it.
I guess it's easy to see how they didn't see that I was a creep. They loved that I love their least likeable features. They loved me no matter what. Oh, how naive they were! They never saw the creep toying with them, but the man taking good care and making them feel like a woman. This was my prize, dipped into perversion and forged by obsolescence. I already had hundreds of these trophies, but my hunger couldn't be satisfied, not even a bit.
I must admit though, that some of them did manage to penetrate my disguise.
They were the ones who knew that I was a creep. There were only three of them, all three differing from the other, all eager to love, but most importantly, to consume me.
I hated them. I lost my game from day one, the veil covering my true self was gone and I was exposed to their irresistible seductive powers.
I didn't kiss, hug, fuck, love or hate them; we did it, together. The creep within climbed to the surface, sunbathing in the beams of togethereness. I felt pathetic for letting it happen, but I was defeated. So when they were gone, and I was I again, I sank in the comfortable, fluffy fortress I had been building through my life, and I happily realized that it just got stronger and harder to overcome.
Those were the moments of pride, the moments of joy; when I got the joystick of my life back in my hands. And the game just went on, it still goes on; and I know that one day the disguise will be completed and I can declare that I'm the most gorgeous creep who ever walked this planet.
2014. szeptember 18., csütörtök
Varietas delectat
There is an uncanny beauty in constructing a post based on song lyrics. It's as if you had a perfect framework of music and wording that cries out for something more. Something more coherent, something more literary, something more... fun.
I know Massive Attack is an overused thing lately on the blog and on other social media platforms. I know you have read something similar (see the Roxanne post) not long ago. Still, Dissolved girl just asks to be transformed. Listen, read the lyrics, then read this. The original lyrics are in italics.
Shame, such a shame. I think I kind of lost myself again. Has it happened once, it will happen twice and so on. Shame, such a shame! It all came with a prompt warning notice yet I acted as if I was unprepared.
Day, yesterday, won't matter. Not a question of 'when' but 'why'.
Really should be leaving but I stay. I stay, I know that it will happen, but I stay. It's already happening and yet I stay.
Say, say my name. You seem to forget my name! I'm not asking for much, not asking for more. Just say my name. You know,
I need a little love to ease the pain. It's not much to demand. See,
I need a little love to ease the pain.
It's easy to remember when it came, remembering your words feels always easy and is never in vain...
'Cause it feels like I've been here before, same motions, the same kiss, the same words, it's like
I've been here before. It has happened yesterday, and it's clear that
You are not my savior, not the one I'm looking for, the yesterday I'm trying to let go.
But I still don't go, I can't go.
Feels like something
That I've done before, the motions and the smiles, the cherish and the care, all happened before.
I could fake it, I know it too well how to do so.
But I still want more, is it different then?
Fade, made to fade, the past does it all the way. I've seen that happen and you are no different here.
Passion's overrated anyway, you need it, you get it; still I want you, I beg you to
Say, say my name
I need a little love to ease the pain, I told you it's not much, just
I need a little love to ease the pain, your words sooth me and are never in vain.
It's easy to remember when it came, when you came, and said what you said.
'Cause it feels like I've been here before, same motions, the same kiss, the same words, it's like
I've been here before. It has happened yesterday, and it's clear that
You are not my savior, not the one I'm looking for, the yesterday I'm trying to let go.
But I still don't go, oh, I can't go.
I feel live something
That I've done before
I could fake it
But I still want more, oh.
It has happened before, I've been here before and yet I have to confess,
I want more,
Hell I do want more.
I know Massive Attack is an overused thing lately on the blog and on other social media platforms. I know you have read something similar (see the Roxanne post) not long ago. Still, Dissolved girl just asks to be transformed. Listen, read the lyrics, then read this. The original lyrics are in italics.
Shame, such a shame. I think I kind of lost myself again. Has it happened once, it will happen twice and so on. Shame, such a shame! It all came with a prompt warning notice yet I acted as if I was unprepared.
Day, yesterday, won't matter. Not a question of 'when' but 'why'.
Really should be leaving but I stay. I stay, I know that it will happen, but I stay. It's already happening and yet I stay.
Say, say my name. You seem to forget my name! I'm not asking for much, not asking for more. Just say my name. You know,
I need a little love to ease the pain. It's not much to demand. See,
I need a little love to ease the pain.
It's easy to remember when it came, remembering your words feels always easy and is never in vain...
'Cause it feels like I've been here before, same motions, the same kiss, the same words, it's like
I've been here before. It has happened yesterday, and it's clear that
You are not my savior, not the one I'm looking for, the yesterday I'm trying to let go.
But I still don't go, I can't go.
Feels like something
That I've done before, the motions and the smiles, the cherish and the care, all happened before.
I could fake it, I know it too well how to do so.
But I still want more, is it different then?
Fade, made to fade, the past does it all the way. I've seen that happen and you are no different here.
Passion's overrated anyway, you need it, you get it; still I want you, I beg you to
Say, say my name
I need a little love to ease the pain, I told you it's not much, just
I need a little love to ease the pain, your words sooth me and are never in vain.
It's easy to remember when it came, when you came, and said what you said.
'Cause it feels like I've been here before, same motions, the same kiss, the same words, it's like
I've been here before. It has happened yesterday, and it's clear that
You are not my savior, not the one I'm looking for, the yesterday I'm trying to let go.
But I still don't go, oh, I can't go.
I feel live something
That I've done before
I could fake it
But I still want more, oh.
It has happened before, I've been here before and yet I have to confess,
I want more,
Hell I do want more.
2014. szeptember 2., kedd
Wiggle, wiggle
Oh my. Have you heard the most recent 'hit' from Jason Derulo (who, btw was born in '89 just like I was)? If you haven't, please click here and watch the video, it'll provide you more than sufficient knowledge to comprehend this post.
Freshmen's camp comes with sacrifices: you gotta listen to the mainstream hits all day. All night. This is how I heard Wiggle the first time and to be honest, I liked the beat a tiny bit. It was a rather catchy tune, and as always, I've looked for the lyrics. Not that I expected much, really. But what I found was the atomic bomb of music industry, the pinnacle of explicit sexism and the final kick to the agonizing body of mainstream hip-hop. Ladies and gents, let's see the lyrics, shall we?
The song begins with an introduction. Not that we don't know who the hell Jason Derulo is. His god damn name is written before the song's title, and many other places where far more worthy things should appear. Okay, so we have a wild-west style build-up, where Derulo replies to Snoop Mammal:
Hey, yo, Jason
Say somethin' to her
Holla at her
[Laughs]
I got one question
How do you fit all that... in them jeans?
[Laughs]
Alrighty, our intro should already prevent every sane human being on the planet from continuing with this crap. Not me.
You know what to do with that big fat butt
Well, sounds like our chorus is about to start...
Wiggle, wiggle, wiggle
Wiggle, wiggle, wiggle
Wiggle, wiggle, wiggle
Just a little bit of... swing
Fine, you don't have to invent complicated rhymes all the time. And eventually 'wiggle' rhymes with 'wiggle'. The real apocalypse starts off with the first verse:
Patty cake, Patty cake
With no hands
Got me in this club making wedding plans
If I take pictures while you do your dance
I can make you famous on Instagram
I've stopped myself from looking for rhymes anymore, so let's just analyze the real meaning behind the oft and apparently pointless lines. The artist compares the booty to a patty cake without a hand. This weird metaphor proves itself to be just enough so that the artist wants to marry the owner of the booty. Then he drops an unnecessary line about Instagram because it's popular and we all heard about it.
Hot damn it
Your booty like two planets
Go head, and go ham sandwich
Whoa, I can't stand it
So, apparently these:
both resemble an ass. Before I'd start thinking that by ham sandwich he means something more explicit, let's move on:
(Oh wait it's the chorus, let's skip it.)
Cadillac, Cadillac, pop that trunk
Let's take a shot
Alley oop that dunk tired of working that 9 to 5
Oh baby let me come and change your life
The artist continues to use incomprehensible metaphors, starting off with a car's trunk (I presume women also have a trunk, and that is... yeah, you guessed) and finishes with a completely pointless basketball reference. Ah wait, sexism also peaks here: the artist believes that a working woman's life can be changed if she is willing to become objectified. Girls, shake your ass to Jason and you don't have to work anymore!
(Again those stupid planetary sandwich references...)
Shake what your mama gave you
Misbehave you
I just wanna strip you, dip you, flip you, bubble bathe you
What they do
Taste my rain drops, K boo
Now what you will and what you want and what you may do
Completely separated,
Till I deeply penetrate it
Then I take it out and wipe it off
Eat it, ate it, love it, hate it
Overstated, underrated, everywhere I've been
Can you wiggle, wiggle for the D, O, double G, again?
Snoop Random Animal Name is still representing the quality here, though it's not really hard after reading the previous lines. Basic grammatic mistakes spice the usual sexist verse that has become a signature for Snoop Dogg ever since he entered the lackluster environment of popularized rap and hip-hop.
I'm done. I'm not willing to analyze this crap any further. Go and watch the video clip, or send me some catchy songs to whistle. Cause all I've been whistling for days is wigglewigglewigglewisédfséfksdlfksdélfk...
Freshmen's camp comes with sacrifices: you gotta listen to the mainstream hits all day. All night. This is how I heard Wiggle the first time and to be honest, I liked the beat a tiny bit. It was a rather catchy tune, and as always, I've looked for the lyrics. Not that I expected much, really. But what I found was the atomic bomb of music industry, the pinnacle of explicit sexism and the final kick to the agonizing body of mainstream hip-hop. Ladies and gents, let's see the lyrics, shall we?
The song begins with an introduction. Not that we don't know who the hell Jason Derulo is. His god damn name is written before the song's title, and many other places where far more worthy things should appear. Okay, so we have a wild-west style build-up, where Derulo replies to Snoop Mammal:
Hey, yo, Jason
Say somethin' to her
Holla at her
[Laughs]
I got one question
How do you fit all that... in them jeans?
[Laughs]
Alrighty, our intro should already prevent every sane human being on the planet from continuing with this crap. Not me.
You know what to do with that big fat butt
Well, sounds like our chorus is about to start...
Wiggle, wiggle, wiggle
Wiggle, wiggle, wiggle
Wiggle, wiggle, wiggle
Just a little bit of... swing
Fine, you don't have to invent complicated rhymes all the time. And eventually 'wiggle' rhymes with 'wiggle'. The real apocalypse starts off with the first verse:
Patty cake, Patty cake
With no hands
Got me in this club making wedding plans
If I take pictures while you do your dance
I can make you famous on Instagram
I've stopped myself from looking for rhymes anymore, so let's just analyze the real meaning behind the oft and apparently pointless lines. The artist compares the booty to a patty cake without a hand. This weird metaphor proves itself to be just enough so that the artist wants to marry the owner of the booty. Then he drops an unnecessary line about Instagram because it's popular and we all heard about it.
Hot damn it
Your booty like two planets
Go head, and go ham sandwich
Whoa, I can't stand it
So, apparently these:
both resemble an ass. Before I'd start thinking that by ham sandwich he means something more explicit, let's move on:
(Oh wait it's the chorus, let's skip it.)
Cadillac, Cadillac, pop that trunk
Let's take a shot
Alley oop that dunk tired of working that 9 to 5
Oh baby let me come and change your life
The artist continues to use incomprehensible metaphors, starting off with a car's trunk (I presume women also have a trunk, and that is... yeah, you guessed) and finishes with a completely pointless basketball reference. Ah wait, sexism also peaks here: the artist believes that a working woman's life can be changed if she is willing to become objectified. Girls, shake your ass to Jason and you don't have to work anymore!
(Again those stupid planetary sandwich references...)
Shake what your mama gave you
Misbehave you
I just wanna strip you, dip you, flip you, bubble bathe you
What they do
Taste my rain drops, K boo
Now what you will and what you want and what you may do
Completely separated,
Till I deeply penetrate it
Then I take it out and wipe it off
Eat it, ate it, love it, hate it
Overstated, underrated, everywhere I've been
Can you wiggle, wiggle for the D, O, double G, again?
Snoop Random Animal Name is still representing the quality here, though it's not really hard after reading the previous lines. Basic grammatic mistakes spice the usual sexist verse that has become a signature for Snoop Dogg ever since he entered the lackluster environment of popularized rap and hip-hop.
I'm done. I'm not willing to analyze this crap any further. Go and watch the video clip, or send me some catchy songs to whistle. Cause all I've been whistling for days is wigglewigglewigglewisédfséfksdlfksdélfk...
2014. augusztus 5., kedd
Weather the storm
Stormy nights shouldn't be spent alone.
We were sitting in my room, watching the clouds gather. The air thickened quickly. She didn't bother much, but I was glued to the window. I loved the rage of the storm, ripping the greenery, and throwing branches around the neighborhood.
'It's so majestic', I told her.
'You should see the ones in the Americas. This is nothing compared to those.'- she shrugged with some gentle despise in her voice.
I poured another glass of wine and turned off the lights.
'Storms around my lake aren't grandiose. They are different in nature. They are unique.'- I paused for a second, letting my words sink in. She knew there was more to tell so she pulled herself closer, one hand playing with my forearm, other holding the glass. I went on.
'When I was a child, I was afraid of the storm. My father would hold into his arms and whisper a short story about God and his angels. He'd tell the tale of God, being a moody jerk and demanding to move his place often; his angels had no choice but to obey, and all we sensed here was a great storm. The rumbling of the thunder was the sound of furniture being scratched at the top of the clouds, he oft said.'- She smiled while staring out the window.
'God and his angels were promoted to the ranks of Santa Claus, baby Jesus, Easter bunny and all these imaginary creatures who make life better during our childhood. But unlike those, my belief in God has evolved and never disappeared. The old, peevish fella morphed into an invisible friend. I set some rules, though. Eventually you can't talk to your best, ethereal friend anytime you wish. The rule for talking with him was bind to the presence of a storm. I'd just open a window, get soaked in the rain, or get any kind of connection with the elements, and then I knew we could talk.'
Her eyes were wandering the dark clouds. I wanted her to be hypnotized: to see what I talk about. Real or not, she appeared to be searching for my old friend in the grim shapes of the sky.
'As every story, mine also has a turning point. At 18 I was through the initial maturing process: love, philosophy, literature and alcohol rocked my world. My friend was still there, but his existence was highly endangered. And then that night came. I would never forget.'
'What happened? Please continue!'- she grabbed my forearm with some excitement.
'I got drunk at a house party. Dizzy with thoughts and wine I exited the dancefloor and found a quiet corner in the garage. The door was wide open: I could see there was a storm coming. With some anger, I decided to challenge my old friend. Eventually, I never saw him, he never replied so you might say it was time for some action in our friendship.'
'You, and your pride. The status quo never satisfies you.'
'It does not, indeed. But that's another story. So as I smoked there, sitting on the cold floor, my back at the wall, I shouted 'where are you now, God?' out, loud as I could. Naturally, only the growing wind roared back at me. The relative silence encouraged me to repeat my statement and adding 'you don't even exist' to it.'
'And?'
'And no one replied, of course. So I've decided to yell the most blasphemous, surreal thing I could ever think of. 'Show me yourself, or you don't exist', it was.'
'What a taunt.'
'Don't mock me. By then, it was almost scary to say it out loud.'
'So did he reply?'
'At first, nothing happened. But suddenly a huge lightning bolt struck into the tree across the street. It didn't catch fire though. As I stared with astonishment, the cigarette did something even eerier. I was holding it upwards with ember, yet the shiny little ball, confuting all the laws of physics, slowly rolled up and out of the filter, and fell on the floor.'
'Your friend isn't a talkative one.'
'A man of actions, I'd say. So as I was sitting there, my friend appeared in the doorframe, asking whether I was afraid of the storm.'
'Let me guess: you said yes.'
'Wrong. I said: 'God has a great sense of humor, you know'. He didn't really get what I meant, but handed over a beer and asked me to return to the party. So I did; and ever since I never dare to challenge my friend.'
'Mexican storms are still bigger than this.'
I looked at her. She was mocking me all the time.
'I bet you haven't dared to have sex during the storm.'
'I bet I'd like to try.'
So we did. My friend above finished moving his furniture by dawn; and with the first lights of the new day, we both forgot the significant beauty of a storm during summer.
We were sitting in my room, watching the clouds gather. The air thickened quickly. She didn't bother much, but I was glued to the window. I loved the rage of the storm, ripping the greenery, and throwing branches around the neighborhood.
'It's so majestic', I told her.
'You should see the ones in the Americas. This is nothing compared to those.'- she shrugged with some gentle despise in her voice.
I poured another glass of wine and turned off the lights.
'Storms around my lake aren't grandiose. They are different in nature. They are unique.'- I paused for a second, letting my words sink in. She knew there was more to tell so she pulled herself closer, one hand playing with my forearm, other holding the glass. I went on.
'When I was a child, I was afraid of the storm. My father would hold into his arms and whisper a short story about God and his angels. He'd tell the tale of God, being a moody jerk and demanding to move his place often; his angels had no choice but to obey, and all we sensed here was a great storm. The rumbling of the thunder was the sound of furniture being scratched at the top of the clouds, he oft said.'- She smiled while staring out the window.
'God and his angels were promoted to the ranks of Santa Claus, baby Jesus, Easter bunny and all these imaginary creatures who make life better during our childhood. But unlike those, my belief in God has evolved and never disappeared. The old, peevish fella morphed into an invisible friend. I set some rules, though. Eventually you can't talk to your best, ethereal friend anytime you wish. The rule for talking with him was bind to the presence of a storm. I'd just open a window, get soaked in the rain, or get any kind of connection with the elements, and then I knew we could talk.'
Her eyes were wandering the dark clouds. I wanted her to be hypnotized: to see what I talk about. Real or not, she appeared to be searching for my old friend in the grim shapes of the sky.
'As every story, mine also has a turning point. At 18 I was through the initial maturing process: love, philosophy, literature and alcohol rocked my world. My friend was still there, but his existence was highly endangered. And then that night came. I would never forget.'
'What happened? Please continue!'- she grabbed my forearm with some excitement.
'I got drunk at a house party. Dizzy with thoughts and wine I exited the dancefloor and found a quiet corner in the garage. The door was wide open: I could see there was a storm coming. With some anger, I decided to challenge my old friend. Eventually, I never saw him, he never replied so you might say it was time for some action in our friendship.'
'You, and your pride. The status quo never satisfies you.'
'It does not, indeed. But that's another story. So as I smoked there, sitting on the cold floor, my back at the wall, I shouted 'where are you now, God?' out, loud as I could. Naturally, only the growing wind roared back at me. The relative silence encouraged me to repeat my statement and adding 'you don't even exist' to it.'
'And?'
'And no one replied, of course. So I've decided to yell the most blasphemous, surreal thing I could ever think of. 'Show me yourself, or you don't exist', it was.'
'What a taunt.'
'Don't mock me. By then, it was almost scary to say it out loud.'
'So did he reply?'
'At first, nothing happened. But suddenly a huge lightning bolt struck into the tree across the street. It didn't catch fire though. As I stared with astonishment, the cigarette did something even eerier. I was holding it upwards with ember, yet the shiny little ball, confuting all the laws of physics, slowly rolled up and out of the filter, and fell on the floor.'
'Your friend isn't a talkative one.'
'A man of actions, I'd say. So as I was sitting there, my friend appeared in the doorframe, asking whether I was afraid of the storm.'
'Let me guess: you said yes.'
'Wrong. I said: 'God has a great sense of humor, you know'. He didn't really get what I meant, but handed over a beer and asked me to return to the party. So I did; and ever since I never dare to challenge my friend.'
'Mexican storms are still bigger than this.'
I looked at her. She was mocking me all the time.
'I bet you haven't dared to have sex during the storm.'
'I bet I'd like to try.'
So we did. My friend above finished moving his furniture by dawn; and with the first lights of the new day, we both forgot the significant beauty of a storm during summer.
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