I think I’ll call it love…

Those of you who take the time and effort to read my blogs regularly, you are probably aware of the underlying themes that entwine most of the pieces published here. When they’re not about a film that inspired me or a social commentary I feel compelled to unleash upon the masses, or a simple fact of life like a birthday passing or the seasons changing, these writings show the real me. I may not tell much in spoken word, but when it comes to my friends: these black formations, I let them open me up and I let them carry the sincerity onto the page because I know they will never mock me and they will shield the blinding lights from ever finding my secrets.

I write a lot about the very basic and quintessential rules of life that I aim to grapple in vain, time and time again. Time a friend and a foe simultaneously. I write about the passing of time and the bizarreness of the concept of time and what it means in relation to my mortal existence. Naturally when time manifests its very visible existence on this earth in the form of physical transformations of plants, rivers, skies and people, I react to that. I grow almost scared and in the frighteningly honest moment I would write about the simplest human emotion. Time passing in the process becomes almost irrelevant.

The idea of an apparent paralysis of the creative vessels also often poses as a central ornament to my writings. Because I want and I cannot. There will be days when the words effortlessly fly out of me and reach the page much too careless and easy. There will be many more days when the words, to spite me, never leave my head. They lock themselves in a grid, chained at every single angle and all I can hear is them laughing at my efforts to release them. They’re bound and they seldom obey me.

There is also the theme of love that creeps in from all corners of the imagination. It stands in front of me like the deadliest trap, the most enchanting, luring, masqueraded, puzzling, shiny medal that I must never have. That I must never tame. That I must forever live without. And it makes me go crazy for it and it makes me crave it and at the same time I wish to discard it at any given chance. I dance a sacred dance around it, to mislead mostly myself, and those around me who know better than to expect me to live without.

The single most heart-shattering discovery that I have made in my short time among the human race is that love is never enough. Regardless of my willingness to open myself up, to allow a deep cut to salvage my skin, to break the flesh, to splinter the bones and reach my heart and bring it to surface, regardless of my most vivid desire to take my beating heart, this bundle of muscle and place it in the bare hands of the one I love: even that can never be enough. Love, even if objectified, cannot alone cope with the despairing human character. I stand in awe of this unbearable discovery and hold my head in astonishment that something that is so precious can have so little power. Why? Why, when if I had the know-how, I would give more than my all just to restore my long lost faith in love? The truth: love is never enough. No matter how choking the passion is. No matter how it boils over us, how it spits its fireballs over our heads: with time, love becomes paralysed.

The web-like existence of these themes connect my head with my heart with my hand. But my all can be dislodged with one unpredictable wiggle of time, with one breeze of love and with one thought of paralysis. The enigma remains and I am left to try to better myself through the only tool I know I may have. I lean on everything I have and everything I know so I am able to go on. So I am able to bear the consequences of a fruitless talent, of a loveless life, of a time tight present.

And they feed you lies…

If there could be a world without politics, I believe we would all be happier people. My only wish and desire is to make this blog about me. To write about the feelings I have and to use it as a source of outlet for all that’s troubling my little heart. Instead I have to waste time and energy and emotion on politics because it’s just more than infuriating what is going on. Instead of worrying about not being satisfied with the place I am right now in my life, with the job I have, with the friends I have, with the goals I have – or lack -, I feel compelled to write about the wretchedness of politicians’ morale. And for this, I hate them even more than I originally did.

We are nearing the 50th anniversary of the 1956 revolution and I think that a new revolution is in order. Then people rose against the communists, now we must rise against the corruption, the deception, the lies, the lies, the lies. We must rise against the people we chose because they feed us lies. In this case, we have to take collective blame, because a nation chooses its leaders and not individuals. This sorry excuse for a man that is leading my little country is surely a reincarnation of devil itself, but I am more angry at my fellow countrymen and women and pensioners mostly, who have elected this clown for a prime minister. Well let them pay the extra tax, let them think he is an angel for telling us he won the election by lying, let them think he is a reformed man and let them think that they chose right: let them be crushed under the burdens of this angel’s measures and then, they might see.

The city I live in is one of the most beautiful cities I have seen. I love its streets and its hills and its river and all the colours and all the history that is trapped in every corner. I walk amongst its walls and I see how much they have withstood. I see that the buildings are marred with bullet wounds, but they are still standing. I see that bridges have lost their balance once, but now they’re standing again. I see that the trees have lost their leaves many a times, but they are in bloom again. But the buildings and the streets and the bridges and the walls and the trees cannot cope with evil that is rising from within. Bullets, bombs, permanent pens they can cope with, they can tolerate and survive, but the black that is tucking at them from below will see them crumble before time. Corruption and utter disrespect for the citizens will see this nation crumble before time. This nation that has held its front against the sweeping armies of Gengshis Khan, against the Ottoman invaders, against the Habsburgs, against the Communists, against the alien ideas of any army wanting to occupy. We, the Magyars, are still here, have been here since 896 and now it looks like one of our own is intent on bringing us down and after all the resistance and fighting, we’ve grown tired and it looks like we’ll let him beat us.

I demand respect as a citizen of Hungary. I demand respect from the person we chose to represent us. I demand change. I will stand with the crowds gathered outside the parliament on Thursday and I will demand this hellish nightmare of a leader to be executed publicly in his powers as a prime minister. We deserve a better leader.