lost // in translation

bob: Can you keep a secret? I'm trying to organize a prison break. I'm looking for, like, an accomplice. We have to first get out of this bar, then the hotel, then the city, and then the country. Are you in or you out?

charlotte: I'm in. I'll go pack my stuff.

bob: I hope that you've had enough to drink. It's going to take courage.


la muerte de la taberna

La muerte // Death
entra y sale // comes and goes
de la taberna. // from the tavern.

Pasan caballos negros // It passes black horses
y gente siniestra // and sinister faces
por los hondos caminos // by the deep ways
de la guitarra. // of the guitar

Y hay un olor a sal // There is a scent of salt
y a sangre de hembra, // and female blood
en los nardos febriles // in the hot nostrils
de la marina. // of the marina.

La muerte // Death
entra y sale, // comes and goes,
y sale y entra //  and goes and comes
la muerte // death
de la taberna. // from the tavern.

[federico garcia lorca]


sherman in a retrospective

Joy, every time I see Cindy Sherman's "Untitled Bus Riders" (1976). Those photographs never sit still. They travel, shift, become. Always.

once a friend unexpectedly sent me a cindy sherman "retrospective" catalogue in the mail from a show in chicago. just recently i rediscovered it in a pile of old books with too much dust on it. she's just as incredible as ever. what's not to love about her 1970s film stills?


nesting in canada

nesting. is that what they call it when you take your time to settle in to a new surrounding?
im nesting then. at my parents home after being away one year.
seems like just a week ago that i was packing for budapest

now im home for a few months of recuperation, so they say, before heading back.
honestly, i can't wait and im unexpectedly disappointed in what i thought "home" would be like after a while. but really, it's nice but just different and yes

[different is beautiful]

but different is different. have any nesting tips? 


budapest -> toronto


hammerhart hat gesagt:
with just one full day left in budapest, im scrambling to put a suitcase together, spend as much time in one special pair of arms as possible and plan for next week already. it's terrible // a complete mix up and surprise.

i shouldn't be surprised. it's always like this. the autumn sun doesn't give up and i wish i could pick wildflowers for days and days.

suddenly the idea of leaving doesn't feel so good. i'd trade my trip home to stay for anything.
holding on to broken gilded mirrors found in attics, white mums from grannie's garden, goulash soup cooked over a fire and old scarves i forgot about in the closet.
can't i take everything?

it's only three months, i have to keep telling myself, it's only three months.
and i'll be back in my hungarian world once again.
until then, i'll re-located to my childhood bedroom in a city near niagara falls. dusting off my sewing machine and making art again. my hands miss that, making art and threading needles. with a far away boyfriend and lost contact with high school friends, im certain there'll be time to sew.



a weekend in barcelona in few words.
1) hotel diagonal zero
2) recognize this plaza from "vicky christina barcelona"?
3) sculpture by joan miro
4) looking for parc guell
5) thrilling curves and lines at the joan miro foundation


italy // bari to brindisi

thanks to ryanair i could fly from bratislava to bari for very cheap.
thanks to hospitable italians i could successfully hitchhike from bari to brindisi.
thanks to good fortune i slept for free on the beach the first night.
thanks to the water gods, it rained like i've never seen for 3 days.
thanks to meditation, it didn't matter.
thanks to italians for inventing pasta, and cooking me plate after plate of it.

for an entire week.

thanks to hospitable italians i could successfully hitchhike from brindisi to bari.
seven days on the road meditating, exploring, swimming, singing and enjoying the leather straps of my sandals between my toes one last time before welcoming autumn.