Back to the weekly regime. Bi-weekly. Any kind of regime. Leaving prints of the days, of the uninteresting, of the nothing happening. Then that’s it. Trying to understand the forces that mute me and tell me everything I say is utterly useless and unnecessary. They say it so loud, it’s scary. With time (What I really mean is with age) I would expect fearlessness would take over. Oh how wrong I am. Doubt mountains everywhere I look. And I realize that if I say nothing, if I pretend life can just happen in one dimension, somewhere between the work laptop and the television, that means they won against me. The muting, doubting, questioning forces could triumphantly conclude that there is nothing to see here. This is my weak attempt to step up and pretend that it matters. Replace “it” with anything you think may be important part of a life and likes to hide away from the inquisitive eyes. It could be me. The one that cannot be muted by fear, or if it got muted for lon...
Sok minden történt az utolsó bejegyzés óta. Ki gondolná, hogy az élet néhány négyzetméteren (ami a kert) ilyen drámai, ilyen eseményteli tud lenni? Megpróbálom időrendi sorrendben leírni a történéseket. Vagy inkább a leglényegesebbel kezdem. A feketerigó egy alattomos támadás áldozatává vált a kertünkben. Egy, a környékünkön élő macska belópozott a kertajtó alatti résen a kertbe és ott a bokorban meglapulva várt az áldozatára, a gyanútlan feketerigóra, aki békésen csipegette a magokat a földről. Mivel a tett helyszínét egy bokor eltakarta a szemünk elől (éppen a függöny felszerelésén fáradoztunk a nappaliban), mi csak az izgatottságot észleltük. Azzal tisztában voltunk, hogy a macska lesben állt, de azt nem láttuk, de hogy a feketerigó már a földön volt, a veszélynek kitéve. Úgyhogy amikor a bokorban szokatlan mozgásra lettünk figyelmesek, tudtam, hogy baj van. Én elítélhető módon arra vártam, hogy majd berepül egy galamb és a macska szépen meglepi. Ekképpen váltam a macska tettes...
Such a heavy duty to start this. Days had long passed when I felt brave and naive enough to document anything from my life. I’m jealous of this old self of mine, jealous of the person I used to be. So much shit has happened since and more days are passing quietly, unaware, unnoticed, unmentioned. To formulate anything that makes sense these days is hard. After all the dreams, all the innocence gone, it’s hard to say what is left. It’s hard to say what keeps me moving. But I still am. Maybe I feel responsible to live a life for the two us, the life you won’t get to experience. Maybe it is closer to the truth that any narrative that helps me to take the next step, that helps me to get out of bed in the morning is tightly embraced. There may be more of these fabricated explanations than just one, and these stories in my mind are changing. Trying to validate the unlikely, the impossible. Up until today, I have moments when I have to remind myself that such a terrible event did happen ...
Comments