the IT crowd, slowly morphing, slowly morphing

ten days since my last post. ouch. sorry.

my enthusiasm and inspiration is being slowly sucked out of me by a 9-5 schedule but in no way do i merit a complaint. i enjoy the window i face on the third floor, looking out on post-communist blocks of flats, an abandoned square of space where i can imagine a building once stood. only thorns and thistles remain. greyed brick from smog and clouds. i am blogging and writing for eight hours a day, a very cool proposition. learning my way around blog platforms and html codes i have never felt so techy. in the evenings i rush home to kisses and the i.t. crowd. season after season, i am addicted to the lame computer jokes and how much i am reminded of my brother in high school. back at work the next morning, i look through the glass of the content writer's space to the rest of the floor. little mole eyes staring deep into the monitors, little circle glasses, wool socks and a can of soda beside the keyboard. this space is a living i.t. crowd. shudder. i laugh out loud at the hilarity of my situation. i turn around in my seat, looking back out the window and continue blogging. i have an office job, working a schedule i shuddered at since i knew 9-5 existed.

funny how things turn around.




saw this wall design by ed roth on design*sponge and can not stop thinking about childhood cereals "can't get enough of that honey taste, can never get enough" honeycombs and the blue, red, and green painted wooden blocks in square, trapezoid, and hexagon shapes to create beautiful tri-coloured mosaics on my fibreboard desk in kindergarten. this is the first time i worked with the shape that is recognized now by the bee's hives honey storage area. i am finding it in more places now. this wall. on the street, a piece of brown paper cardboard corrugated in a new way. there is something to special, angular and organic at the same time about this shape. 

i have a bright orange wall in my apartment. i wonder terribly if the landlord would mind if i honeycombed it light turquoise. maybe? david says no. but would be soo cool. i am also inspired by the wallpaper job on an older post at fieldguided. the walls here though are textured which doesn't make any sort of application easy. 



espresso served with soda water. 2 sugars. kozonum szepen. i walked past, turned around. smoke and pastries. a table behind the stairs and at the counter a dread headed waiter. the ashtray is full but none of the butts are mine. sore throat / itchy throat, just looking creates a cough in my throat. uhh i hate soda water. it is the most unquenching liquid apart from vodka. the writer by the window smiled when i came in. im a writer too he doesnt know that though. because of my accent they all think im american. im not. theres a lot of art on these walls. good and bad. bikes in the hallways. ive walked by here three times before actually coming in. im chicken. i dont know why im scared of hungary. im a little ashamed to not speak hungarian. the guy across speaks english / british. so it much be an english safe place. i think i am just scared to get thugged for looking american or something. david says this place is rough but that rough? i dont know. i am making things in my mind again. he is wearing a pearl-stitch knit sweater. grey. a yellow folder on his table. he is scribbling. a leather jacketed fellow comes by with greased hairs to have a look. a brief chat and nothing more. he is still scribbling. green socks & leather loafers. the kind i can imagine that caleb wears.i even think there is tape on his glasses. i like him instantly. black polished nails by the window drags long and hard, staring at the grey street on the other side of the pane. this place is called siraly or seagull. dogs are invited.  

hemingway and espresso.. a perfect combination?

"My excuse is that I make the truth as I invent it truer than it would be. That is what makes good writers or bad." Hemingway (True at First Light) 

a very nice quote from ernest hemingway's true at first light. i wrote it down of a scrap of paper when i read it for the first time. i have read it again, and reread it. i am about to start a writing job, not fiction writing but my job will be defendant on my ability to write clearly and creatively. to sell destinations to the travelling public. to allure and attract and build together for them a potential scene on the french riviera in which they might find themselves. click click and they could be on a flight tomorrow to the destination of their dreams. two more clicks and the hotel is booked and one more click, why not read an online travel guide about the destination. my job is to write that travel guide. have i been to the french riviera? i have only seen it in my dreams and so i write about it as such, of course with a little google research as well. i dont think i invent, more probably i embellish on what i discover and fill it as best i can of what i hope it is like to be there. it is definite that i would write these logs and descriptions completely differently if i were to visit these places in person. i dont think i am a bad writer though, or falsely leading travellers to places i have never been before. if only this type of writing instills in me the itch in my feet to travel and discover the places of which i am writing about again and again, across oceans and over mountains. i will go to the french riviera. on my way to spain.



this city is getting ready for christmas. fashion street is alight even more than it usually is from monte carlo's casino. a little further and  i can see the museum across the river. the freedom statue. buda castle and chain bridge, lit in all the right places for night time photography. it is warm and cold and im glad i wore my hat. thom yorke in my ears and couples kissing along the boulevard. peter pan immortalized in bronze, sitting near the tram stop. i turn the corner and four bmx'ers cross me in a line, heading for the old bus station at deak ter. this is where to go to find a new trick. it is a 24h skate and wheel show. the one with the biggest scar wins. there is something i cant really put my fingers on. the leafless trees? my almost blank moleskin? the garbage picking gypsy at the opposite corner? it is just walking. the slow and dependable stride that takes me from one corner to another, creating lines on the map as i trace the streets. i am in a world of maps again, it always starts in a new city this way. maps / walks / midnight lights / non-stop traffic.



>time to air out the rugs.
>parliament/ a picture of that cool looking building over there.
>andrassy utca. 
>reminiscence of an older day/ rusted wheels but still purrs.
>saint stephen's basilica/ around the corner.



dear deak ferenc ter, you are too cool.

this is my home now. at least not all of it, just one little cube of space in it. bright and yellow in the afternoon sun. i can imagine how nice it was as a palace in the 1800s. a little royal marble on my door step. rumour has it that hofi geza lived one floor up. even cooler.

today? finding tree hugger dan's coffee shop near the opera house and then settling in a cozy chair to read for a few hours. tomato soup for dinner with leftover lentils and rice. looking for some fresh basil too. there is no soup without the basil. 

is it really november? really?



slippery elm and rose hip tea.
ecchinacea tablets and a worn out handkerchief.

is it cold season already? but ive only just arrived.
it is a good time then i guess to work in my new bed and my cocoon of soft blankets. keep me warm and safe. the new flat is nice, orange wall and zebra rug. dear me. small. we have just one cooking pot, a yellow one, three spoons, a butter knife and two tea cups. a few jars of home-made pickles from david's granny and a box of fresh onions, carrots, peppers, and  walnuts. 

no salt or pepper yet. but we have an italiano coffee maker with kicking horse beans but no grinder. not yet. so coffee will wait. hello deak ter.

met yesterday sammi from vancouver and we took metro tram and bus to find the communist statue park. 

nice ride / cold day / grey sky / full moon / stalin's boots