az elmúlásról írni, mint az ablakra köhögött levegő
jelentéktelen nyomot hagy, majd szétmállik
hangok a távolból, illatok a tegnapról, elhasznált
és zavaros tekintetek, melyek a hétköznapokban
éppoly jelentéktelenné váltak mint a szeretet,
megértés, őszinteség vagy a kegyelem. Ez itt.
Ez itt. A két pont közt megfeszült átmenet,
az első sírástól az utolsó szemlehunyásig, viszonylagos,
minden pillanatunk mozgás, pihentünkben is,
észrevétlenül száguld velünk a környezet.

Confused, I think I am a bird—am I?
Seen up close, from inside the eye,
and from far away, sipping at the void,
There was nothing special in me,
I was ordinary,
one among carrots, apples and foxes,
the projection of my consciousness,
like chromatophores ---
an evolutionary trick for survival.

none of them is me
there are no calm arms
circling around us
stroking, carefully
my existence
silent
ridiculous story
a delicate black powder
a slowly incandescent velvet
its vapour suffocates me
penetrating
into my flesh

I can barely breathe, the blinds on the window
gapes, mouthing instead of me. The solitude
is refreshing, beautiful,
beautiful, paradigms shattered into splinters
are lying on the carpet, beautiful, beautiful
the isolation, the ruined life,
the fucked-up relationships, drops, drips,
screaming raindrops, like Morton’s piano,
knock, knock, lying on my stomach, I listen to my heartbeat,
then lying on my side. Which city is this?
The sound of the cars is the same, the neighbours’
through-the-wall, routine groaning-sex sounds similar.
I have no idea, maybe the dirty Manchester?
Or the puffed-up, scabby London? Or perhaps
the stinking Budapest? Hard to know.
It makes absolutely no difference – you might say:
I have shut myself out from every feeling
that could be felt toward the outside world;
it might just as well be a concrete box,
or a sunlit meadow – everything is equally uninteresting,
part of this Bad Creation that was made of the same material.
I think a lot, I think a lot,
blah. The groundlessness of pointlessness,
the razor-sharp rows of teeth of injustices,
the stinking breathing of lies,
and the endless sorrow: like the basic colours,
I mixed them, and everything turned dark,
I count the heartbeats, but I lose count
at one hundred and fourteen, confused, I start again,
I don’t even fall asleep into this,
a few minutes of nightmare,
In which I could not even recognise myself. Hey! Hey!
How beautiful the spider is by the sill,
I’d kiss it, but it quickly goes away. Hey!
What a lovely sound the wind has outside!
I ask it, but it goes quiet – not a social being,
no, no and no. My poisoned hopes,
the imagined embrace, the radiant summer light,
my dead memories. It is good down here on the carpet,
I keep listening to my heartbeat, hoping it stops,
And that thing that was me eventually ends, too.

as if in another world
I had woken,
there is nothing in it
there are no lights,
no one lives here,
so nothing is rotten,
there is no window,
my face has disappeared,
the clouds have vanished,
emptiness where the air should be,
there is a void,
where streets should be,
there is no space,
there is no air either,
so sounds do not exist,
pain is unknown,
so is grievance,
I would like to smile,
but I cannot, as
I have no mouth, no eyes,
I would comprehend it,
but there is no understanding,
in this world
we never existed,
we cannot pass,
we could not love –
I must live here,
yet without time,
I cannot even die.

They smile, but it’s more of a grin,
they breathe out of self-gain, they blink for advantage ---
It is like being on a foreign planet here
as if I were a creature from space in a world
I don’t know, do not like,
I am stuck here, I have to live here – for as long as I exist,
to watch this endlessly dull
game, all the hypocrisy, the greed
to accept that “this is it”, “this is all there is”
There is nothing more behind it, no hidden good,
no hope lurking quietly in the background,
the only comfort is silence, solitude --
living like a creature from space on this alien place,
like in a poorly made film.
I stare at the walls, and all the while I know
There is nothing else, no escape
apart from loneliness, there is no other refuge.

We often hope
That things will get better, that in a world ruled by money
There could be another way. We long for compassion,
we think that a seemingly good deed
Is not merely propaganda, a campaign,
corporate image-polishing,
social-media tactic done for personal gain.
Sometimes we hope
That anything could exist beyond the borders of money, profit, advantage,
power, revenue, success, popularity, investment and capital – yes, it exists, just as
in the Middle Ages there were hermits,
those who lived withdrawn from the world, outsiders,
you can exist like that even today: out, outside,
without pursuing advantage, but you must know you will be lonelier
than you would imagine – because in the world of money
there is nothing beyond revenue, profit and will,
there is no parental love, no genuine faith in God,
no love, honest, and mostly not even real science,
because researches are also financed
in the hope of a sellable product or idea.
This world is broken.
Sometimes we hope
to meet others who love without seeking gain,
who are enthusiastic without hidden motives,
who care about someone else without expecting benefit,
but these hopes are mostly futile.
Perhaps one day in the distant future,
when we no longer have biological bodies,
and with that, capitalism becomes an archaic, nasty habit,
when we no longer need politicians,
when there will be no more companies, corporations, investments,
when, stepping onto the path of artificial evolution,
our existence will no longer be bound by its brevity,
perhaps: this nightmare will end,
Perhaps this terrible, primitive era will change....
Perhaps. Maybe. I do not know...
But honestly, even today, there is a choice,
even now we could be better,
we could be more generous, equal:
but we do not want to be.
Because the majority believes
that being cruel, ruthless, relentless, proactive, agile,
greedy, selfish and powerful....
are the highest virtue and value.
This here is a ridiculous, primitive
civilization,
one that fills me mostly with shame,
and infinite fear.

we feed the rubbish bins
grinning with enthusiasm for money
showing off our teeth – predators
We feed the rubbish dumps
adoring madmen, our sociopathic heroes
growing in their shadow – we rot, And
now, we see everything as information
as our ancestors before their gods
So we bow before the data streams
messed-up worlds, the botched primates of them
relentlessly, persistently, purposefully
we feed the rubbish bins
yum, yum, more, bigger, more
the illusion of advancement
another sellable product
inequality, misery, wars
true reflections
which looks at us
like frozen teardrops
our primitive world’s
concrete cheek

to run in the silence of the night
still before dawn, when no one is out
only taxis gliding past me
carrying their drunken cargo home
sometimes I catch the stench of perfume, cigarette smoke
trailing behind them
I smile at the foxes.
listening owls,
The city is beautifully empty,
I follow the faded centre line of the road
If it rains, I laugh, arms wide open
the silence before dawn, those two hours
a refuge of calm, of quiet
no lies, no will, no money, no speech
even the birds are silent, no chatter
nothing but the mute streets, the sadness,
I escape here
from the day, the light,
the world people have smeared,
ruined, monetised, sold
and utterly mangled;
the silent consolation of solitude,
will-less embrace of speechlessness;
I don’t love the world
this awful Pandemorra
we built
so primitive, endlessly foolish
and compared to its possibilities
unspeakably
wretched.

seeking silence, the noise
to hate, standing mute and still,
swallowing the days’ plain commonness,
drawing it in deep like some kind of poison,
giving up on hopes,
then, hoping again?
simpler, more tangled,
as if you were constantly drowning
floating on a bottomless lake,
beneath you, the unknown even dark,
the ordinary, overused
dark madness where, in truth,
most people only love themselves;
where self-surrender,
the setting-aside of selfishness,
is rarer than anything.
there is no air, yet we breathe;
I cannot guess
Why does any of this exist?