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The text collection presented here appears to the reader like a diary from a very unusual, varied, but also full of drama, childhood and youth of a young person moving between worlds and cultures, whose linguistic power allows him to process what he has experienced, but also creates identification in the reader and evokes memories of one's own experiences.

Work diary Wikipedia

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My mother
This time I hesitated, this time I got the mother I was entitled to, mine. She was so young She was so beautiful. And she always only grew older at night. When the shutters were closed, when no more light poured through the cracks, when everyone was asleep in the house, she died alone of her youth, she died alone of her beauty, her grace, she drowned in the money that only seemed to make her life easier be let. At night death crawled at her feet, up her soles, on her legs and quietly ate its flesh. No sound, no scream, never was pain in her eyes. Only she could die so nobly if the cancer slowly took her beautiful body. She was the only one who could live so elegantly, when the scars went with the light, when only one thing remained of the pain, a small stone in her already small heart.
...

temptation beckons
in forbidden spaces
in dark places
too late
the fear of the uncertain whips
but the dream of experiencing is strong
a quick look
a light touch
then kiss violently
don't be tender
how beautiful that tremble
how far the world
and near the strange
stunned bodies on top of each other
flushed face
love on winter days
...
I thought about growing a beard, a full beard, all over my face and long and white. Then I would go up a mountain, on top of the top. I would sit on this tip and no longer eat or say anything, fast and be silent. And then I would turn to stone and be part of the mountain. After that there would be a thunderstorm and lightning would hit me and the stone would fall off me and I would be a young man. Then I would go down from the mountain into town and meet you.
I also thought that wolves shouldn't lurk, but be attentive. If I were a wolf, I would certainly not be lurking, but I would be very attentive. Wolves seem clever animals to me. If I were a wolf, I would be smart. But I am not a wolf.
I also thought that the trees would all die soon. And when they're dead, they go into the sea. All dead trees probably go into the sea to the algae. The algae were once also trees and then went into the sea because the fish need them more than we do.
I could of course grow wings and not a beard. Then I would fly down from the mountain and not be silent and not fast. The lightning would come and it wouldn't hit me. I would grow my wings and fly into the valley to you. And you would get my wings so that we can both be humans like birds.
Opinions
“NAGYVILAG” magazine for world literature, Budapest
The novellas collected prove that your style has become much more mature. The influence of Franz Kafka is also obvious. And that's why I think you had a very difficult life and you don't have it easy today either. Having talent is an extraordinary matter and it also requires extremely sensitive nerves. And having that is not an enviable thing. Actually, I always have some regrets for writers.
Katalyn Rayman, Head of Section
It is fascinating that someone in their early 20s can think in these dimensions.
Hedda Guhr, managing editor
The reader experiences remarkable reports from a "border crosser" between religions and cultures ... There is no doubt about the authenticity of this event! ... It is first very sharp and clever, but at least partial insights into life and cultural contexts (), which are highly interesting and recommended for reading.
Liberal, magazine for politics and culture
Today I started with your work diary and I am very impressed by your power of speech, expression and your feelings. I was especially drawn to your letters for Harald Zörner.
Brigitta Geyer, Hamburg
Congratulations, your working diary should have been elevated to the Olympus of poetry and prose by the literary pope Reich-Ranicki alone. I always particularly enjoy such concise literature.
August Ohm, painter, Hamburg
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The original etching for the book was designed by Bernhard G. Lehmann. The two sides or personalities of François Maher Presley, symbolized here by the letters FMP.

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