A good day

On Friday, I was frustrated for reasons beyond my control, which depressed me. I have a great sense of justice, and I can't get it through my head, even with a big gourd on my neck, why so many people tolerate the evil that threatens all of our lives. Late Thursday night my throat started to hurt. Some seasonal virus hit me. Despite my sore throat, I went to the market in the morning. Then after the market, I walked around town. I took many photos, edited the best ones. The first picture is of one of my favourite mushrooms, poplar fieldcap Cyclocybe cylindracea. I have several nice photos of it, but I never get tired of taking photos. And I love the autumn habitat photos.

The yellow toadflax Linaria vulgaris one of my favourite wild flowers since childhood. Anyway, I was looking for mushrooms in the Csabapark. I found far fewer than last time. There hasn't been rain for weeks, only the morning mist luring out the most persistent fungi as poplar fieldcap. Despite the few mushrooms and the sore throat, I felt great. I gave myself over completely to the joy of creating. Whether it was photography or writing, I was pleasantly energised by both. Although why did the translator put this last sentence in the past tense? I really enjoy the creation! When I smile from ear to ear, my mind must be buzzing and working on something. I'm never bored, because as a lonely creator, I get my mind working on interesting things.

I walked, I photographed, I thought, I did three of my favourite activities at the same time. The mark of a living person is that he moves. Life actively defies entropy. The universe is moving from order to total disintegration. And life's epic struggle against destiny is futile yet exhilarating. It's just grandiose and it gets me all excited. I feel alive. But most people are puppets on the stage of life, and their intellect and vitality fade before their time. It really pisses me off when I have to make my way through zombies. Then, in an instant, my smiling pumpkin head turns into John Rambo's gloom. I realized a long time ago that society is just like nature, you're either a predator or prey and there's no mercy. Fight or be crushed. I prefer to dodge and disguise myself in my own unique way. Otherwise, I'm a small predator, I think weasel.

I run on the stage of life and collect and acquire my treasures. I can be really bloody when I've got my eye on something. I like to feel life, because while it hurts, I can be sure that I am alive. So don't be surprised when I explode and fly like fireworks. If I see that the dummies are very disturbed by my intense glow, I step aside. I can spend days by myself and not give a damn if World War III breaks out. I'd eat my snacks and sit on a lawn chair and watch the explosions light up the horizon. Oh, in my dreams, I've often seen the doom brought upon us by the misdirected life force. Man is such a contradictory being that, though he loves to live, he desires entropy. My head hurts, my neck hurts, so I babble, but that's what I need to think creatively while I'm tormented by the misery of the body.

I am a spark out of the fire, like all living things. I fly and glow as long as I have energy. Then I go out, I am destroyed. I don't believe in any sweet lies. I know nature, there are no clever puppeteers here, just the fire show of the big bang that became life. Of course, it is frightening to think what death, total annihilation, means. I have a very good imagination, so I have no problem at all imagining my dying and my death. It will be my last adventure. It's not the most beautiful, and I'm sure I won't enjoy it, but as long as it hurts, I'll know I'm still alive. Somehow it's funny and tragic at the same time. That is why I often present myself as the youngest artist, the fool who cries and laughs at the same time, because she sees the bad and the good at the same time, and sees through people who are unable to understand her strange speech.

People mistakenly see autumn as a time of passing. But nature is merely going dormant to get through the winter. When I was a child I was afraid of autumn too, but only because the puppets would start a sad play at the end of October because of some bad tradition. The dead don't care about flowers because they no longer exist. We speak to bones and ashes. As long as we are alive, we should be honest and kind to each other. How many times have I seen the silly charade of my family members' inability to talk to each other! All drowned in their own anger and sorrow. It was despairing to see their senseless drowning and frightening to realize that there was nothing I could do for them. I was a child saving myself. In her imagination, she carved a tiny boat and pulled herself into it to ride out the storm and then learn to ride the waves. The sound of the waves drowns out her cries and laughter. Look, there it goes on the horizon. You'll never reach it and it doesn't want you to. Unreachable, like the truth.