> But oddly, it does a little something to me like when I was
>reading Candide. All you've been through in your flea-infested
>adventure in loving real people face to face, betrayals and pointlessness
>and all . . . bringing fresh sting to Voltaire's politely scabrous
>of the silly horror of all and all prattling about our time, anyone's time,
>being 'the best of all possible worlds.'
>And yet the beauty, still. Wow.
well, thank you mark... i may have turned into a poet, but that means
nothing. my favorite poet is a hungarian one, attila jozsef. attila
jozsef lived in poverty and killed himself at the age of 35 or
something, i am not sure. pre ww2, a long time ago, anyways. the neat
thing about hungarian poets is that the good ones are really
well-loved, they matter. to pretty well everyone. gypsies love him
too, he was part gypsy. it's kinda not like here, you know, with
i read candide when i was 14 or so. i remember i liked it. that year,
i remember, i also read les enfants terrible by jean cocteau and
l'etranger, camus. i was in grade nine, my first year in canada. i
was very unhappy.
i don't feel betrayed... by whom would i feel betrayed? that human
beings are shits i have always known. that some, a few, are not, i
also know. that we have natures geared towards greed i also know, and
i also know that they only way to overcome that is to be truthful
about it and to fight it. no biggie, really. i'm no better than
anyone else. i just hate myself a little more, haha.
and it is not pointless. sometimes i think it so, but that's cause
sometimes i get tired. then it is pointless... then i think, what's
the use of doing anything, us the squirming worms of the universe.
there is two, and only two ways to think, and one must choose between
them: there is death, and there is life. we are the only species
cognizant of our mortality, that is our tragedy. thus the promised
miracles of every bullshit religion... you know, the reward. that we
matter. we do not matter.
but there is life too, while we are around. so the thing is to concentrate.
heh... i am rambling :-)
but... i haven't stopped whatever it is that i am doing. i still
care. i still call romania. i am still glad that katika studies, that
grandfather is happy. and that they, at least, have food to eat.
well, until about august, anyway. then the money i left runs out.
then i will start begging again, hope you don't mind, haha.
and i still feel horrible about janoska, and the other children too.
they are all good children. and they get spat on in the street.
that's the real issue. that, and hunger. that people should be hungry
is obscene. that children should get headaches cause the're hungry is
i still want to do something, i don't know what, but there is gotta
be something. i still care. and i am still angry. being angry is
good. i can concentrate real good when i am angry.
so i'm gonna try to go back this summer. somehow. i want those
children to know that there is something, you know, something. not
just the black hole to fall into. there is something.
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