Katalin Pusztaszeri

I am a few handfuls of twisted DNA slammed to the ground by blunt reality.

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Do you see those deep fissures in the concrete?

A macro relief map, an alternation of cracks and smooth surfaces, like connective tissues from a pure histological CUT under the microscope.

 

I do not have a past only presence. My wounds made me contemporary.

 

I am a burn-out robotic toy-dog turned on its side, the electric wires are sticking out of its behind, swagging in the air...POOR CREATURE!...Who is going to help you to pull it around?…Does anyone even want to pet you out of misery? YOU! Children’s biggest distress.

 

I did not know my grandparents, hardly recognized what a family is.

 

I am a neon colored casino SLOT MACHINE in a sleazy retro pub, gulping dirty coins day by day. Dear Mr. John Doe...focusing obsessively on peaches and plums, however hard you are trying...you have never got the jackpot. You light-headed bland attempts, your fiddling moves...are leaving you unsatisfied and frustrated.

 

My mother says I do not bear a resemblance to anyone in the family.

 

I am a predator, a PLASTIC REPTILE, an inflatable beach mattress drifting in freshwater tumbling by the wind. It is only a question of time...and a dark tanned pumped up figure with hairy back is going to grab me, put me down and bear me under his symmetrically built up body...or pass me to his teenager partner in colorful trikini who hardly pushes her freshly made artificial tit bits into my rubber skin.

 

HUMANS! You could be SO FLATTENING!

 

Wherever am EYE... ON EARTH, ON AIR OR ON WATER!