Frank Hammersith

To all cunts

I will now write about the Cunt.

As it is. The Cunt is You.

You are the Cunt.

I am disgusted by You.

You know no love.

You were born to be in your own void.

You are the Emperor of nothingness.

you are no one.

You are pathetic. Pathetic of pathos.

The love you receive is transformed by you into pity. Because you spoil everything precious.

That is how much cunt You are. Cockroach of the Castle.

You produce cuntness. It gets to me. I have no mercy for your elevated so called intellectual suicide.

You are just self-masturbating shit.

You are the Sea forever now.

Sea of the Cunt.

You are the perfect Cunt for me.

I want to cum from disgust. I will cum You Cunt. Pathetic cunt as my better world that was never a real world.

You act as a catalyst. The Cunt Brother. Perfect citizen of my City.

read the above out loud to me

feed me with your failure.



Frank Hammersith


Right now I am Frank

to be frank.

Frankly speaking

Who is Frank?


Pessimistic cunt that is frank allegedly.

In the name of Frank he writes – name he got through luck.

Frank is egoistic – it is a luxury to be frank – others must respond to frankness then.

Obviously Frank is not frank. Not at all.

He will be the same old Frank everyone used to know.

Frank. But Frank.

To be Frank. Rather not to be – unless you are in denial.

Frank Hammersith

Hangovered Brazilian Dream

That’s almost all I managed to write today..

A title.

But what does this title mean to me?

Surely something very different or nothing to you.

But it means everything to me. Does that mean then, that if it means to me, it also means to you, because THIS as a whole may mean to you? Even if it means nothing to you, it actually might mean something. Through your choice of understanding of meaning (means/does not mean) I understand how it means to me.

This means.

I cannot go anywhere close to what I mean. Personally. As a whole. Differently but importantly for everyone.

Brazilian dream is like American dream but just less optimistic in its scope of ambition. Actually, Brazilian dream is so real that it’s not even a dream anymore. It’s a reality (!), which might be a dream already, but we do not know that yet.

It’s Brazilian because it is a dream that is unknown.
It’s Brazilian because it is not explored type of dream.
Because each dream might be a reality already, just unrecognised, sitting there in a different form of what is in one’s perception about dreams.

Subjectivity is endless. So is the Amazon river, stretching through Brazil and Brazilian dreams. But Amazon actually has an end, while subjectivity doesn’t.

I hope that You all dream and will never stop to do so, whatever type of dreams those are.
Just don’t forget to enjoy the present.

To Dijana – for being a dream in all senses of this word.
To Ruta – for being a true friend and dreaming Brazilian dreams.
To Stelu – for being a true friend.
To David – for being a true friend.
To Hugo – for a massive contribution to my perception of Brazilian dreams from the Brazilian perspective. I will see you one day.
To Thomas Bogg – for being a true friend, never letting me to forget the subjectivity and always showing me a different perspective, inspiring and inviting me to this Circle. 
To everyone that I read here and who read me – thank you for being a part of this circle.
To everyone that I forgot to mention – I am hangovered.

Frank Hammersith


There was nothing to write about. The question is, why do I keep writing then?

Yes. But there is no other way, but to put thoughts on the paper, to give the inner-me some liquidity.
Give me credit.

But my wish is only imaginative now, the relativity I feel is immensely appropriate.

I live in the circle, but not in circles.

The streets I am walking, the laughter I hear..
Irreplaceable is obvious.
What does that suppose to mean?
That I want you to be absent.

Present, more likely.
Tonight is my night.
To be lived and to be skipped, hah..
You live and skip it too.

Give me my share
Entrust me the stock.
Provoke me to care.

Let’s go for a walk again
Down the Godollo street.
But let’s not make it until the end
Since I will have to write in vain again..

Frank Hammersith, Ossídio Gaspar

Best Friendship Conversations. Saving Colchester from the Void, by bringing it back into it, directly. Being Drunk, over thousands of miles, with my mate Frank.

We begin by reminiscing about past experiences and memories that are getting older by the day. We come to the eternal subject of Colchester, where we have shared our only times together so far. Frank becomes poetical, and I quickly get carried away in his Homeric spirit, as will be seen.

Frank: I miss Colchester. To be fair. A lot. Please enjoy. Your last months there. Go for walks when you can. Appreciate each moment. You will miss it.

Ossídio: I will. But I think it is a place that can only be really appreciated retrospectively… As you do appreciate it now. It lacks presence, actuality: things don’t really happen in Colchester, they only happen to Colchester. If you see what I mean.

Frank: I know what you mean.

Ossídio: Because I believe you, I can imagine how you must be missing it.

Frank: The best walk ever: Essex Uni campus – Wivenhoe.

Ossídio: Yes!

Frank: Yes. Do this.

Ossídio: I will.

Frank: I would say that path is a big part of me. I always remember our walk there with warmest feelings.

Ossídio: That path is a very important path: I would say that it is beyond Colchester: it represents something greater, something about the world, itself. If I don’t get caught up in too much exaggeration.

Frank: It became symbolic to me. I agree.

Ossídio: Does it symbolise something in particular for you?

Frank: Path to Wivenhoe and path in Budapest. Yes. It means to me the opportunity and the freedom of thought as well as possibility to improve. And also it makes me understand that I exist and don’t understand anything.

Ossídio: I like that. It opens up a different perspective: one that is always losing itself, getting lost in itself, in an essential way, in that it cannot understand what it is seeing, what it is coming to, and this resembles a form of happiness. (My thought on what you have just said.)

The fact that being lost is not necessarily a negative thing: it is a clearing of the view over one’s existence: it helps you to see your individuality in a way that is both comforting and escaping that very vision of it. (Another thought, I am getting inspired by your description.)

Yes, I will take that walk again. In fact, I simulate it sometimes: I sometimes take the route via the path to get to the University from my house: it is always a much nicer walk than the other one to the University.

Late summer evenings before the sunset. Those were good times.

And funnily enough, not so good times too: you were agonising over the future. But there was still something coherent, continual about it: despite the fact that we did not know what that end would be, it was still happening and we could enjoy it for the fact that it was happening. Indeed, I think we can sometimes take a perverse pleasure out of our own disappointments: it is possible to stand back and live the situation as a narrative, as a film almost, at times, and see it for the epic it really is. I am speculating at this point, and getting quite drunk. Haha. But the epic, I think, is important: that we are always still alive, still living even in the hardship: that there is something of us left that is not entirely absorbed in the situation: a space in us that either resists or simply cannot be overwritten by despair or desolation: that there is still the part of us that is going to fall asleep at some point and wake-up the next day, beyond torture, beyond damage, beyond doubt.

Frank went to sleep by this point. He lives two hours ahead of me. I will let that be the satisfactory explanation for his retirement from the conversation.

Frank Hammersith

The Others

The process:

Full becomes empty.
Empty becomes full.

Full and empty.


Two radical notions combined, if combined.


When “full of emptiness” equals empty fulfilment.
When the Oriental gets some sort of meaning other than otherness.

The emptiness is a fertile ground for fulfilment in observing and perhaps..
in finally touching upon the Oriental without the Other (nes (s) )

Since the Oriental is a form of imposed otherness, the empty fulfilment becomes fulfilling in itself.


Full becomes empty.
Empty becomes full.

Full and

People are not Others. They are us –
a reflection in the mirror of appreciation.

Laws are only to facilitate self-regulation
But not to regulate.

And when there is no “Oriental” in the Dictionary of Otherness, and

only then

empty will become full.


My dear, I walk when I am sad.

The Otherness.

Frank Hammersith

11th of March

My stories are written here.
Most of them just a reflection of separation.

My nation of trust.

Each single word.

I got what I wanted.
I lost you
For it was not to happen.


No fading away.

Strong as it was.

I am in heaven and I put it in my box to stay forever.

I will open the box sometimes –
Only for you and me.

The poppy flowers.

I know now what is care.

Frank Hammersith

To Di

I am here again
in the haze of early evening.

I am here again
To find that you and I began.

I am here again.
Closing my eyes
So you can close yours.

I am here again
To find that you are far away,
To know that that’s the only way.

I am here again
Just to witness that I am not.

I am here again.

To be with you in my deepest thoughts.