képek, betűk

A mass of sophisticated lies.
More of everything is needed: clip-on devil horns.
Made cheaply, slap a logo on it, sell it for more.
Lifestyle, faith, conviction, tradition — ancient products.
The best thing is to sleep through humanity like a rainy day.
To dream, but not in images — only emptiness.
To remain gentle among all the money-worshippers.
To renounce everything that ties me to this world.
Not out of ideological madness, but just because.
To forget oneself, surviving quietly.
To take joy in those few scientific discoveries.
To be happy with those few paintings.
To ponder the handful of poems and novels.
To crawl into the clouds, hug trees, stroke the rain.
I don’t care about competition; I’m afraid of noise.
Politics is a self-copying stand-up routine,
where the poor elect billionaires.
Where the rich, the capitalists, lie piously.
And once they’ve deceived everyone?
Laughing, sitting on their voters’ faces.
Farting into their noses, rocking back and forth
like children on a toy horse.
I don’t want to deal with either the past or the present.
It stinks like a rotten onion — under every lie, another one.
It’s tedious and terrifying that everything has become a narrative:
I think the sky is yellow with green spots this morning.
My face is an octahedron, and I’m smiling because everything is so beautiful.
People are wonderful, our civilisation is full of potential.
Around me, there is democracy and love.
I ate a two-metre banana for breakfast —
I even have a photo of it.