Négy éve volt. Fotótábor. Minimál. Jövőhéten újra lesz. Már más nézőpontokkal.

2010 júniusában, Kodak Kodacolor, ISO 100, valamikor régen lejárt film.

A triptichon most készült. Benne a délelőtt minden hangulata. A jó beszélgetések, a majdnemkönnyfakadás. A tegnapi klezmer koncert öröme, a múló idő búja, a kisgyerek aki a csatornatisztító bácsival szóbaelegyedve - az anyai tiltás ellenére - mosolyra fakasztott. A barátok más hangulata. Szimbionta. A rájukhangolódás.

Itt van minden


Egy cikket olvasok. Egy tömegről, egy fotóról. Valakinek a '89-éről. Az érzéseiről. Elgondolkodtat, kicsit lenyom.
Felállok. Ideje felhívni Anyámat. Kimegyek az erkélyre.
A telefon tárcsahangja veri a dobhártyámat... Arra gondolok, hogy megkérdezem: Ő hol volt akkor? Mire emlékszik akkorról? Csak várok.... Bíp-bíp-bíp.
Egy ember sétál lent. 40-es férfi. Kicsit őszül, a csíkos nadrágját láttam meg először. A cipője is menő... Bíp-bíp-bíp. Jobbról egy férfi jön és egy fiú egy kék Simpsonon, talán az apja... Bíp-bíp-bíp. A nyakán hátul van a napszemüveg, a srácon fekete a bukósisak. Bíp-bíp-bíp...
Nem veszi föl.




(jó fotó lett volna. egy pillanatra elgondolkodtam, rohanok be a szobába a kameráért. aztán csak hagytam, hadd történjen minden. bíp-bíp-bíp)

Two thousand years ago the Master Tsuang Tsi,
pointed at a butterfly and remarked rather musingly:
„In my dream” he said, „I was this butterfly,
and now I wonder if it is he, or, actually, I.”

„A butterfly, yes, a butterfly was I!” He would often tell,
„and it danced and frolicked in the sun merrily
and didn’t even suspect that he was Tsuang Tsi…
And I woke up… And now I cannot tell,

now I have no idea!” He continued wistfully,
„What is the truth? Which one could I really be?
Did Tsuang Tsi dream the butterfl y,
or was it he butterfl y that was dreaming me?”

I had a good laugh: „Stop kidding me, Tsuang Tsi!
Who else could you be? You are: Tsuang Tsi! You, of course!”
He just smiled: „The butterfly within your dream
believed, just like you do, in his own truth!”

He smiled and I shrugged my shoulders. Then,
something or other made me shudder, nevertheless,
I’ve been trying to figure this out for two thousand years
but my certainty is fast dwindling to less and always less.

And so I came to believe that ’truths’ don’t exist as we know them;
I think that everything is either an image or a poem.
Tsuang Tsi dreams the butterfly – that’s how it now seems –
the butterfly dreams him, and the three of us are but my dreams. - See more at: http://musessquare.blogspot.hu/2012/04/szabo-lorinc-1900-1957-dsuang-dszi-alma.html#sthash.cZUkF2bN.dpuf

Two thousand years ago the Master Tsuang Tsi,
pointed at a butterfly and remarked rather musingly:
„In my dream” he said, „I was this butterfly,
and now I wonder if it is he, or, actually, I.”

„A butterfly, yes, a butterfly was I!” He would often tell,
„and it danced and frolicked in the sun merrily
and didn’t even suspect that he was Tsuang Tsi…
And I woke up… And now I cannot tell,

now I have no idea!” He continued wistfully,
„What is the truth? Which one could I really be?
Did Tsuang Tsi dream the butterfl y,
or was it he butterfl y that was dreaming me?”

I had a good laugh: „Stop kidding me, Tsuang Tsi!
Who else could you be? You are: Tsuang Tsi! You, of course!”
He just smiled: „The butterfly within your dream
believed, just like you do, in his own truth!”

He smiled and I shrugged my shoulders. Then,
something or other made me shudder, nevertheless,
I’ve been trying to figure this out for two thousand years
but my certainty is fast dwindling to less and always less.

And so I came to believe that ’truths’ don’t exist as we know them;
I think that everything is either an image or a poem.
Tsuang Tsi dreams the butterfly – that’s how it now seems –
the butterfly dreams him, and the three of us are but my dreams. - See more at: http://musessquare.blogspot.hu/2012/04/szabo-lorinc-1900-1957-dsuang-dszi-alma.html#sthash.cZUkF2bN.dpuf

Two thousand years ago the Master Tsuang Tsi,
pointed at a butterfly and remarked rather musingly:
„In my dream” he said, „I was this butterfly,
and now I wonder if it is he, or, actually, I.”

„A butterfly, yes, a butterfly was I!” He would often tell,
„and it danced and frolicked in the sun merrily
and didn’t even suspect that he was Tsuang Tsi…
And I woke up… And now I cannot tell,

now I have no idea!” He continued wistfully,
„What is the truth? Which one could I really be?
Did Tsuang Tsi dream the butterfl y,
or was it he butterfl y that was dreaming me?”

I had a good laugh: „Stop kidding me, Tsuang Tsi!
Who else could you be? You are: Tsuang Tsi! You, of course!”
He just smiled: „The butterfly within your dream
believed, just like you do, in his own truth!”

He smiled and I shrugged my shoulders. Then,
something or other made me shudder, nevertheless,
I’ve been trying to figure this out for two thousand years
but my certainty is fast dwindling to less and always less.

And so I came to believe that ’truths’ don’t exist as we know them;
I think that everything is either an image or a poem.
Tsuang Tsi dreams the butterfly – that’s how it now seems –
the butterfly dreams him, and the three of us are but my dreams. - See more at: http://musessquare.blogspot.hu/2012/04/szabo-lorinc-1900-1957-dsuang-dszi-alma.html#sthash.cZUkF2bN.dpufv

Two thousand years ago the Master Tsuang Tsi,
pointed at a butterfly and remarked rather musingly:
„In my dream” he said, „I was this butterfly,
and now I wonder if it is he, or, actually, I.”

„A butterfly, yes, a butterfly was I!” He would often tell,
„and it danced and frolicked in the sun merrily
and didn’t even suspect that he was Tsuang Tsi…
And I woke up… And now I cannot tell,

now I have no idea!” He continued wistfully,
„What is the truth? Which one could I really be?
Did Tsuang Tsi dream the butterfl y,
or was it he butterfl y that was dreaming me?”

I had a good laugh: „Stop kidding me, Tsuang Tsi!
Who else could you be? You are: Tsuang Tsi! You, of course!”
He just smiled: „The butterfly within your dream
believed, just like you do, in his own truth!”

He smiled and I shrugged my shoulders. Then,
something or other made me shudder, nevertheless,
I’ve been trying to figure this out for two thousand years
but my certainty is fast dwindling to less and always less.

And so I came to believe that ’truths’ don’t exist as we know them;
I think that everything is either an image or a poem.
Tsuang Tsi dreams the butterfly – that’s how it now seems –
the butterfly dreams him, and the three of us are but my dreams. - See more at: http://musessquare.blogspot.hu/2012/04/szabo-lorinc-1900-1957-dsuang-dszi-alma.html#sthash.cZUkF2bN.dpuf

A kapuőrhöz: 

én boldog vagyok,

ő integet, és Dsunag Dszi álmodja a lepkét

to the Gatekeeper:

I'm sunny

he is waving, and Tsuang Tsi dreaming about the butterfly

Napok telnek. Jól. A képekben én is ott vagyok. Meg egy csipet abból, hogy miért mosolygok.

Days going by. I feel fine. And I'm inside in every picture. And a bit from that essence, why I'm smiling.

A bábu, ki ölelésre várt, most megfordult, kezet nyújt és glóriát növesztett. Épp a legutolsó vizsga reggelén.

The doll, who were waiting for a hug, turned around, give his hand, and he grown a glorie for himself. Just on the morning of the last exam.