Lately (I feel a tiny bit more pissed off...)

Still didn't receive the papers from my last job. Not my last salary either. Didn't even get to talk with them. They don't take the phone. Obviously are busy with someone else.
Instead I received a call from my mobile service provider. They think it would be best for me if I had a monthly subscription. Instead of charging my card whenever I empty it. They can see that I've paid too much lately.

How does it make you feel?

I remember this picture on the page of a science-fiction magazine that I read as a teenager. I couldn't understand if this creature in it was (meant to be) evil or simply strange.
Now I know that it was alone. That's why it seemed so unreachable and so hard to comprehend.
Exactly like me. And several hundred thousand others to that. In this very world, and not in a sci-fi story.

Rotten

On Friday I saw a man crying on the train. He was older than me, maybe fifteen-twenty years more. He was sobbing loud now and then. That's how I noticed him. I was deep in my book. Then heard him letting it out loud. He couldn't help it or just didn't give a damn.
After a while, I felt like going over to him, and give him a big hug. But I didn't. Instead I gave my notice at work.
The water tastes so strange in this heat. Even if I let it run for a minute or so. Rotten.

pointless

Everyone's struggling to see the reason why,
though it's in front of them, they look the other way
And here I am, wondering how they miss the point,
but that only means, I'm one of them; that's the point.

obvious vs. oblivious

Photography only differs to comic books in that, that it doesn't take the effort to fool you to the extension of showing even the most horrible things as cool and good-looking. Yet, the pictures we take are missing to reveal, for instance, how much suffering is included in the construction of a great building. Which again is a good example of how human beings can be turned into an organic machinery. But again, in all organic lives, and even in that which seems to be unorganic, there's a whole lot of pain and struggling, as part of making it what it is.
The question is, when will we reach the point to use our organic mind to avoid all the useless hurt, instead of causing it. Since we can achieve technical wonders unthinkable of before, wouldn't this only be a matter of attitude and will?

The Guys with the Strange Eyes

Why are they always looking down,
like they couldn't take it anymore?
Or is it just a mood, like a frown,
maybe they have too much to think of?

Pennywise

Can the evil clown from The Dreamcatcher be an elderly woman? Yes, of course. Just as much as it could be me or you. It's our choice how we behave.
Well, it was me who named her, only in my head, like this. She had a strange red color to the remnants of her hair that spred out into all direction. She loved to go around and shout, yes literally shout, remarks all over the office. Even personal ones. Not directly, she didn't have the bravado to that.
When I started to work there I used to say Hello! and Good morning! every day when I arrived just as everyone would. Right after that the guy who had trained me left the company, one morning when I entered and said hi, she screamed as if an ironing desk fell on her foot (bet I wish). Her problem was that I didn't look into her eyes while saying hello. Now, there's quite a few people sitting in such a big room, and I meant it for all of them. And though she didn't say this to me in the eyes either, she made sure I heard her.
So after this I didn't say hi when she was there, however I greeted her when we met in the kitchen, in the corridor or other places of the building. Aaand surely looked her in the eyes. I thought this would make her understand that I didn't mean any bad that day. In case she really meant to adress that drama to me, which seemed to be the case. As she only seemed to get completely confused now.
Soon after I heard her telling someone that she would then do this or that to make someone hate her even more, because she knew that she was hated by that person. Is that a psychiatric case or what? Who in their right mind would want to be hated by others?
Honestly, I know it's not the right thing to comment on how other people look like. But one thing I will never forget about this person is her eyes, blinking small and I would say it, yes, evil, nearly all the time. I have no idea why.

The Morning Waiters

Gap upon gap
in your moves and your head
Then so very glad
to see the day at your bed
And to know that it's over
that dreamless unrest

disappeared

A repetitive dream again.
The part where folks are invited into a huge, dark (or maybe for the outsiders it's invisible) room or ship. From which they'd simply disappear. Is that teleporting them or a physical gateway through a cave?
The next picture - We (who didn't get in?) are riding on a bus, and feeling a strong connection with each other. All in silence, as if we knew what we're thinking anyhow.
Before that, it seemed like, while waiting at a terminal, found and took others' shoes (or maybe boots - wintertime?) because I'd lost mine, or others had taken them.

Switched off

Sitting in a lobby. Anywhere.
Waiting for something. Anything.
Surrounded by some folks. Anyone.
What's the difference between the unimportance of any of that in a dream and in reality?
What really matters is what's happening.

Someone asks someone else to say something.
For some reason I feel he (the one who should answer) is an important person.
What's even more important is what I see.
The one who's talked to him grows one pupil to fill his whole eye socket.
The one closer to the one he's asked to talk.
It's not a clear thought, rather a vague but then a nearly shocking discovery.
This means he can force the other one to talk by controlling his mind.

As soon as this hits me,
and right then there might have been a rush of sudden whispering heard all over the place,
someone I can't even catch with my eyes,
comes over to me in the blink of an eye, leans to my face,
and more than telling me something, he makes me understand his message without words.

And I'm off, and wide awake once more with all the pictures clear in my mind.

"You're torturing yourself, and you dream a lot."

(The Dreamlife of Angels)

where are you

Woke up in the dream, but felt like reality. It was so bright in the room. It was more like I suddenly appeared in a shop window. But no, only it was ground floor, and the big windows looked straight on the street. Think someone even looked in while passing by. And I couldn't get it what I was doing there. All alone. It didn't make sense.
So I was upstairs, and feeling safer, in a more private place with curtains. But still looking for someone. You. I understood that when I opened the window, and saw you outside. On a narrow ledge. It was disturbing. Though I don't remember being afraid that you might wanted to jump. More like you were coming inside. Then saw you leaned down to pick up something.
From the balcony. For that's what it was by then. I turned to see who was talking behind me. Some friendly neighbors passing time on their own balcony in the fine weather. We said hello. I think they had a little dog, or two.
When we were inside I had to look at you closely. I was touching your face as if I was blind, and had to feel that it was you. To make sure. You looked so much like yourself, and yet somehow different. The dream was so real, and I couldn't comprehend how it was possible. You being yourself, and yet as if only resembling a picture of you. You didn't understand, and kind of smiled.
Out again, but this time downstairs, in a garden. I think I still sensed you around. Maybe I wanted to show you something. I already moved away from the terrace, and was out between the trees and plants. I believe I heard a dog from somewhere. Suddenly, when I turned, it was dark with the vague outside lights on. And it was snowing. Actually all was covered in snow. As a contrast to the surrounding darkness. I woke up then in reality. And you were gone.

The Real Thing

Woke up to the certain feeling that I'd already had exactly these dreams, and very likely in this order. The schoolyard with the flowers - first hovering above and slowly descending, then into the building. The house with the many rooms for different emotions. Then outside, in the country, at night. The only difference, as much as I can tell, was that now the details were clearer.
Basically it was about life and death; sexuality and murder; lust and fear. Even though I was surprised about some very shocking scenes I couldn't recall from before. A child sleeping peacefully on a couch, or so it seemed. Face covered with a hat or a veil. Then as we leave the room, the sudden and terrible realization that you faced death. An old lost woman lured into the woods by a creature dressed much like her wearing a funny mask that resembles a grinning skull from a Mexican carnival.
No films, no books, no songs can ever be as strong and expressive as dreams.

born again

Funny how one can look forward to changes like moving to another country, and trying to start another life there. You don't even know a thing, and yet you can nurture so many half-thoughts, hopes and wishes. Wonder about the new streets you'll walk, the people you'll meet, the language, the daily life and all the little details. Awaiting to see the sun when you wake up and suddenly realize that you're thousand of miles away from where you used to live for long long years.
Somehow it's like being pregnant and planning everything for your baby, for Little You, who is yet a totally different person with an own view on life. And you'll become only more and more different to each other as the years go by. Yet in a miraculous way you'll always stay part of each other. You never stop seeing your hopes and dreams in that person or in that place.

my name - my life

My Mom named me Attila and I inherited János from my Dad's father. As in a "good" patriarchal family or society rather, János became my first name, while Attila the middle one. So I wouldn't really listen to Attila at all. Still I am using it now and then, for instance on official documents. I also like to use it because it makes me feel like this way I respect my Mom who always cared about me. While my Dad never gave a damn about me. Though his father died in a Nazi hard labor camp, so János reminds me not only about him but everything there is to remember. When I was young I often thought about using Attila instead if I'd move somewehere else to make it more like a completely new life. But I have grown very much to my first name during all these years. More than that I got to like it, just like my personality and all that comes with it.