a storm awakening2: the comeback

The last storm subsided.then like a deja vu it came back again.That was it!The comeback!I awaited for this storm to return ever since i had to make my story less predictable and more special!The raindrops danced again bla bla, neighbor got out again bla bla, i felt like a singer from a boys band walking with my shirt open towards the storm.The rain felt heavily on my body.my shirt got soaking wet but all it got was darker allowing the stupefied by passers a clear view of my wonderful yet hairy chest.[Note to self: next time shave.I know a good girl who charges by the square meter.Will pay her in tickets.After all i am ready and i deserve better].I felt like an explorer, treading on new grounds.Exploring a new territory through lonely book guides. Only i was the narrator...I felt the rain dripping all the way in my underwear till i could feel wet all over.I stood there telling my self that this story is not yet special.I had to think harder...
Suddenly i could feel it.It came to me like an epiphany!First the one side then the other.The colossal truck that splashed in the mud puddle thus enhancing my left profile with that added extra mud water that was lacking should i desired to do peeling.Then it circularly moved to my right and splashed my right profile thus completing my mud cast.I left so quickly that the mud statue remained.It was a tribute to mud.I did not get mad though.I continued onwards to the creation of this terrific story in the raging storm.The storm ended several times and i had to restart it all over.It is easy Ctrl+Alt+Del and restart.You get wet all over again bla bla.SO i continued in the looping storm.The raindrops fell continuously on the pavements and streets and pavillions and shops and balconies and dogs peeing and if i dont say something inspired i will have to wait till the storm restarts.
The storm was raging as always and i could see no help coming to shelter me from all the rain.But that was ok cause i like to get wet in the rain.Suddenly i remembered that the best recipe for a good story is romance, adventure and the sense of unexpected.Restart
The storm was persevering.[What a stupid word!]
The storm was insatiable.[yes and then Kim Basinger did a strip tease with fruits...stupid]
The storm was furious.[somebody ate my porridge...stupid]
The storm was biblical.[then Moses split the mud paddles in two just for fun...stupid]
The storm was holding
The storm was falling
The storm was restarting
The storm kept the unchanging tempo of the concert performed by the raindrops on the street.Alone i wondered the city streets where people used to walk, now hidden behind windows in the dry security of their adobes. I felt compelled to splash in the first puddle of rain in front of me.The water came splashing up practically frozen in a slow motion movement.The first move was on me.the second one was his.We looked each other in the eyes.It was a question of who would make that third move.Time felt like dust pilling on us with every second ticking like an earthquake on the clock.Tick.Eyes.Tick.Bodies still in time.Tick.Eyes.That ticking didnt stop.Soon he had to visit a doctor.Had to see why he had that incessant ticking.Tradition says that you are going to see someone but never did tradition define the boundaries between the actuality of seeing and the realistic view of neurological deficiencies.He did see a doctor.Also a law student, then a secretary, a graphic arts designer, an architect, a dancer and several others.But she was the one...It was the way she ignored him that made him become so persistent.Close to her he discovered the true meaning of isolation.Close to her he was motivated.Close to her he felt he was in love.She made him pump up with love and despair; he blew her up with a needle right on the foot.Then the torso.The final karate kick came right in the solar nexus!Kaaiiiiii Ya!She shouted!You despicable turd of Yak,I will have you for breakfast.Breakfast was pancakes with syrup, omelet, boiled eggs, medium boiled eggs and hard boiled eggs.Many questioned this diet, but it was certain that it gave you the proteins needed to get through a hard day with a hard shell!The secret was the old recipe that he stole from his grandmother while she was asleep.She kept it in her boxer shorts that her late husband left her as a token of his undying love for her.His love endured.He didn't.The secret was well hidden in one of the folds of the boxer, that hid beneath the fold of 100 years of skin.Somewhere between the tissue and the skin and the obvious disgust in his face, he found it!Eureka!The hidden land of the unexplored territories laid there before him...He looked into the unknown and uncharted land ahead, checked his lonely planet guide on where were the best places to eat and headed for that direction.Romance, adventure and the unexpected waited for him.Beckoned as the last can of corn opened.Vegetables were over.The fruit were finished and the remains of the last lunch were but a fleeing memory.The need for a resupply of half a lunch without salad and vegetables fruits and pitas was required.But who would go out and get them...Who would slay the dragon?Who could finish his work on time?The only thing certain was the rain falling hard like the seconds on the clock...
The storm was raging
The storm was restarting
The storm was echoing
The storm was boring
The storm was not anymore

a storm awakening

Catching the raindrops out of my window.Light plays hide and seek between the clouds flashing in between occasional rainbows in the sky.A storm awakens after its deep slumber and powerfully sweeps the streets.The clouds inflate in the sky like a wonderful gray balloon, hovering over the city.The raindrops dance on the rooftops, on the pavements, in the puddles in the streets, all over the wet landscape. Meteorologists carefully examined the phenomenon and posed their realistic thoughts talking about the relevant humidity, the barometric low and the atmospheric pressure that will subsequently keep people at home for the rest of the day. "Storms will be nasty they say", I hear from the neighbor that steps out to the balcony to quickly gather the clothes that are already soaked from all the raindrops that placed their humid bodies on them."Who would want to be out on a day like this?"The Meteorologists give their scientific realism on it.My neighbor sees a wild phenomenon and avoids confrontation. I only see the raindrops dancing all over me. I can feel my body slowly lifting till i am one of these raindrops.Who would want to go out on a day like this...

i leave my protection behind and go out the door,onwards in the raging storm.

to Mr Dr Feelgood p.h.d.

LETTER 1
dear Mr doctor Feelgood,
i feel bad this day.I feel the same.I feel down inside and hurt and miserable.I try to smile but to no avail.I think i don't feel anymore. I pinch myself to see if it is true but apart from the sensation of pinching i don't go deep into the root of the pain.I want to feel.It all begins with a big smile.I heard you specialize in smile implants and feeling lifts.I just do occasional dancing lifts so i can feel the burden of your work.I wont take much of your precious time so I will be quick.The world around me is alien doctor.I always managed to draw any body's attention on me.Now i feel i do not get all the attention I need.I need more people to confirm my existence!I need to have everyone looking at me!

LETTER 2

Dear mr Doctor Feelgood,
I decided I want big eyes that will stand out so anyone can get lost in them.I wanted my nose to be less apparent not necessarily changed though. And I want a smile to light up my hole face.Yes.I would love that.I want everyone to notice my smile anywhere, when i enter the room with teeth brighter than the whitest white!Although I am presenting myself as this deep person I am actually more than superficial.It is my image that I care about.I want to look good anytime.And happy no matter what!Be my Santa Mr Dr Feelgood...Give me the gift of appearance...

Thank you Mr Dr Feelgood!!!

petition no 28102007

petition no 28102007

To the department of Sanitation and Insanitation

Dear Mr/Mrs

I am addressing this letter to you in kind regards that this request would not get lost in your archives and you would personally look into the matter so that the health regulations are properly respected.
I have to report to you the mischievous behavior of my neighboring self who is in clear violation to any sanitation rule ever written. The hideous acts performed by him will be listed as follows.
On Sunday 28 of October, our Lord's year 2007, i discovered the burial grounds of 44 sand beetles. After intensive search i reached the training camp of beetles being subjected to cruel labor, gathering hair from the carpet in the room with the excruciatingly orange walls which was then stacked into a pile and treated to be used for vile purposes that overlap my sense of reason. There was no procedure i could notice that involved at least the use of a detergent to wash the "finds" the poor insects collected. An excuse was included that surpassed any audacity: the preservation of the original smell. Smell is one more thing that seems to be of fleeting importance here;it is everywhere!we are overcome by original smells!Everything touched and tainted by originality has to be left at that state!
Sheets are left on the bed for weeks"original smell",
underwear left unchanged"original smell",
showers not had"original smell"
At some point the original smell is being override by other familiar and unpleasant smells of originality!
I am truly a fan of preservation.preserving the wildlife,preserving the forest,preserving panda bears in bamboo salons, preserving marmalade,but not preserving t-shirts that preserve the reminder of sweating across different countries!I therefore call upon your authority in purging this facility from the taint of original smell.I am pressing charges on my neighboring self for staring at nothing for hours which of course prevent me from watching my favorite program on TV or do my work.I also have the suspicion that he is entering a state of multi-personality disorder.He thinks he is more than one person.
I believe you will also find it in article no 25/b-l.a that such a case is due to be subjected to immediate sanitation. I propose an immediate low level hard brain format with no back up.Well maybe just one.But you should hide it somewhere no one can find it easily.
I thank you for your patience and urge you to be quick in handling my case as a top emergency, lest it spreads into a reality than just a bad dream.I expect impatiently your response.

My sincere gratitude for an immediate response
the voice of reason

stars in silence

past the mountain across from my window, far away in the horizon i can see the stars.The stars are suns so someone said.Like ours, maybe smaller or bigger. Suns that have planets revolving around them,probably life too.Who knows.Those silent stars that lay there with the silent existence of life.Just as they appear.;there just for a night without clouds or a bright moon, then silence again.I can feel that life beyond the silence even if though declaring it would have me portrayed as strange.Looking towards that point past the mountain I send a message.Probably lost in the silence.Like shooting at stars till you see one falling to make a wish.Just to break the silence for a while.Maybe hear a word+ know you are being heard.On that spot faraway in the horizon across my window...

the butterfly effect

i am waking up in the morning.
You beside me/you not there.
I make breakfast for two, even though I am alone in the house;
I take it as a sign of having you in my mind/ I throw it away.
A walk. Somewhere near/somewhere far.Places I would like to visit.
Places we can visit together/ places I can have a great time on my own.
Images stretch out in front of my eyes. But I am closed to them. Every image of your closeness streams out in real time and engulfs me.
I ignore it and look ahead/I let myself in the whirlpool of memories.
A memory so real reaches out to me. As I wake up startled+you are not there, but I can hear the bathroom door opening and wait to see you through the bedroom door. As In the kitchen making breakfast. As we are walking and you just went in a shop while i wait for you outside.
I feel you there all the time/I view myself as being in a premature state of Alzheimer.
I ride my bike. I get the sensation she feels light. I miss the proper balance that makes every turn and every kilometer under my feet seem like a new adventure.
I prepare a trip where we can be together as i long for your company and the trip stops to see you smile/I enjoy the immaturity of going solo as I stride among cars with the counter at 220 onwards to the big turn ahead.
I go out. Drink. Dance.Meet people. A strange woman whispers in my ear. I hear your voice. Her face is not yours. Her body does not resemble to your figure. She does not speak of what runs deep. She does not laugh with a shared, stupid joke. She wants her own.
I smile past her to you wherever you are/I make a joke we both laugh to.
As the night comes I feel the sensation we can be wherever we are into each other. That we can connect no matter where. And that makes any moment we spend physically together more vivid and more powerful than anything.
I feel your heartbeat+the heat of your body/I consider myself a realist and awake from a dream. Waking up or dreaming. Life is a series of decisions and options after all...

a bloggers tip [ soon to be revised]

When you are into blogging like a true and experienced author, you must first ask yourself whether you truly are willing to sacrfifice your truly good social life. The master blogger is a guru whose social life extends to that of the night butterflies crashing on his screen as a hello. But still, if your mind is set and you decide you want to use the force of blog, then here it is:

Be epic in your start. Who cares if this day you went there, or did that bla bla bla...Be powerful.Be moving.Inspire the other to read your article with impatience.Even in the news they stopped being realistic and pragmatical.It doesn't sell, people want drama.Drama is a Greek word-and also a city in the north which could be close to that description-so i know.I am Greek.I have to want the marbles of Parthenon back, shout that Macedonia is Greece and be vulgar to Albanians and Turks.So do they.

So back to our subject.Epic: instead of saying :
Today i went out and the day was nice, but it smelled like crap cause the garbage man parked in front of the house [bla bla bla i will sleep].

try:
The day was upon me when i stepped out into the noisy street. The light fragrance of autumn filled my nostrils, along with the mixed flavors of banana, rotten egg and tuna from Mrs Parkmans garbage being thrown into the iron bowels of the garbage disposal unit. spices up things.

then you usually continue with:
I made something to eat which was crap +ate this and then I went out and met my friends and there was this amazing club which played wonderful music but there was a big sized jerk at the door who didn't let us in.

so to put it in another way:
my tongue vibrated on the taste of a remarkable recipe i uncovered, which evolved through the art of improvisation to a delightful dinner, followed by an exit to uncover the recipe of the night life of this city with it as a main course, the people as ingredients and my friends and me as the spices to an eventful evening. However the requirements for this stew to enter the oven where merely salt and no spices what so ever, as was reminded to us by the overgrown chef of the club who graciously hid behind brutal words, a costume and an overgrown muscular system.

you will proceed with:
i talked to this girl who is so beautiful and who i really like and try to get her interested in me but most probably she is not interested in that way she is somewhere deep and doesn't come out.

replaced by
There are moments where your sight come across something so familiarly and yet so foreignly beautiful to you. There are moments where all this beauty rushes into every image on your head, that you want to shout so loud so that it escapes in the world free; yet you simply talk, afraid to break this fragile moment with anything louder than a whisper. And out of everything to do, you talk to that creature so that a tide of of words fill and swirls in your mouth. Then you swallow them, just to leave one survive and hope this will be your Ithaca. This will speak for everything you keep to yourself and though it bounces of her sealed lips, you patiently await that echo in her open mouth. Then words will fall like a sunshine on your face rather than a pouring rain-kind of like when you talk to the adorable old lady of the 2nd floor with her increased fluidic production which always gets magnetized by your face...Then you wait a word, a touch even if so distant, but all falls to a great void that the answer that comes out is lost in translation...


[ the writer of the article above was charged as being over sentimental, which resulted in a regrettable amount of fine to cover, so we will try to refrain from using overly open expression from this point and be forced to lobotomize this partner.]



so you will usually end with:
And i had a great time, although there is a part of me missing something. Still tomorrow i think i will go to out and maybe forget about it. I like going out cause the weather is nice these days, although there is much pollution and traffic.

with:
It was a wonderful day still as i seek that which eludes me and which causes a significant number of my brain cells to be worn out in the process or remembering.I remedy this need by pilling new images rapidly and in increasing numbers short circuiting the process of memory. I choose to go out into the city again and get lost in streets whose name will seem more significant than remembering and yet whose name i will forget by mistake as a collateral damage. I choose to enjoy the wonderful weather, along with a distinctive black vapor that enters my nostrils every time i get lost in a "little house in the prairie" moment and try to sip the fresh building air. I engage in a horn dialogue with my driver-peers in the street and apply my full might on my bike's throttle feeling chased by an invisible lion, like all the herd of cars and other bikes do until i find a place to stick my head in like an ostrich;so i can run faster on foot to a questionable destination. So far i have escaped the lion's mouth. But it is lurking there. Hiding.It has the face of a policeman, the body of a taxi, feels like a bus and screams like an ambulance or a firetruck. I start walking and sip the fresh, cool morning black vapor...

So why be plain and normal when you can indulge in such an epic crescendo?Express yourself openly. Or try to talk more to people...


p.s.:
exclamation points, full stops and pauses all count. They can be discreet

Today it was a beautiful day.The sun rose in the sky like a flower on a blue field.I felt moved by a strange hand to go out;I found that i did not return until the sun closed its pedals....All i wanted was to see the moon after all!

or powerful:

The moon.That moon.Its light, flooding me.Every ray, touching me.Small, tiny cuts.Out of every ray.Out of every touch.Not breathing.Flooded by that light.The moon ascends.I am cut.From within me springs out every you in that moon above us;i am that moon [at this point you howl]

smoking is bad for farms

the morning was upon us.The sweet dawn that rose from the hills bringing spring into my doorstep reminded me of my youthful days back in the farm. The farm...The rooster yelling for the time for us to sip that fresh air.The horses that would run wild behind the white picketed fence.The cows that laid feeding all day before they gave us the milky seed of their ample breasts. The small innocent lambs that twirled in the backyard till we would feed them. The farm...so many good memories. Then war was upon us. It was the day that papa left to go to war. Mama would cry and smoke everyday...Then the Germans came and as Greeks consider hospitality a precious gift, mama would be courteous when they came for the daily dairies to invite them for a coffee. They would sit in the living room and then they would all smoke together. The ominous clouds of war were upon Europe but i was too busy on the disastrous clouds of smoke in the living room. Soon all the furniture would stink of cigarette. Then my lovely clothes. Then my brother started smoking as a protest, but i always thought he did it to be sweet to that German girl who moved in with her father the commanding officer of the village. Then my grandfather, who stopped smoking cause it would ruin my whole beautiful description of the farm, started to smoke again so as not to be rude in front of so many smokers. Then papa returned from the front. But all i could see was the cigarette in front of him. He was marked from the war and would sit smoking all day. Since he disliked the people who caused him to nearly lose his leg in the cold mountainous regions where they laid for months, he would always retreat to where else; my room!So after a while all the house would smell of smoke. My grandmother saw the opportunity in it and decided to plant tobacco in the field. Then my uncle returned from Cuba with his strange ideas and talked of cigarette folded in tobacco which he called Cigar. Plain, no -ette behind, probably cause of their mysteriously overgrown length. The market was open, the business was lucrative, the plantations expanded, the horses mysteriously ran off to somewhere else-and i always thought they went for a smoke-the rooster was replaced by an alarm clock playing comandante Che Guevara and earned a first place to the 25 December flight to the oven, the sheep lost their innocence and smoked weed and the cows would chew on tobacco. Everyone smoked but me! There can be only more than one reasons why i hate smoking!

faraway so close

it is a fleeing dream and you grab onto it as it passes. But then grabbing is useless in dreams...You just have to let it pass through you and dream you might dream of it again someday. In the real world distances are so close. Never are you far away. I listen to that song you had to have. You don't have it cause you have to hear your own thoughts, whisper your own tunes and make you own day a song to live in. I don't believe you can ever find the proper words to speak your mind. What you say always feels like a brick wall where i smash onto...One wall for each dream.One thought for each feeling. Thinking always leads you astray. Breathe and live and all comes where it should. I can only hope and dare to be in your thoughts not as a word. I am not trying to grab a dream. Any moment you choose to give me will be a new universe to live in. Places will be there. People will turn gray or colorful as you lose and meet people. All will be the same but these moments. In there lies all their magnificence. In that you will never live one even similar. My body always blossoms in the thought of your touch. My thoughts fly with you. And no words can fit you inside them. My words stop having you in them as you slip into somewhere deeper where no one can reach but you. I could await;butI stop waiting that dream. Still I always feel lighter in each breeze...


faraway...so close...

une question d'existence

es tu la?
est-ce que tu entends ceux que je ne dit pas?
fais je des rêves sans toi, juste en pensant que tu es la?
est-ce que tu sens jamais cette mélodie qui glisse sur ton corps?
est-ce que tu sens que je suis la?
ou est-ce que je veux que tu sois la?
tu es libre de cesser cette torture.

close if

days that turn to nights
indecently clinging to a dream.
One that sense awakens.
Feel as if feeling
not as a response.
Dream as if dreaming
not as to replace.
Journey far away
unto closeness,
unto togetherness;
a journey to nothing,
a voyage to to the void.
A place of echoes
that of your voice,
if barren the land
that voices go to.
Care in 'dream
of what is closer
close it be
and be afar
true to you
that me is given.
Giveth yours
as mine now lingers
truth in so
death in thy fingers
close if be
never a home
should this lie
as truth is told...

Bliss comes with exploration

Bliss comes with exploration.The memory of a feeling covered by endless bodies.Flesh over emotion just to reach to that day when memory is clouded by different smells and absent emotions.Until one face that is all,a face you see in all faces,breaks down to the same face of unexpressed clouded lust.

What about all the moments?The dust hovering in a ray of light as the sun slowly sets?The distant lights shinning like stars falling on the ground?Feeling the coffee losing its warmth in your fingertips?the force that the seconds pointer in the clock has as it rushes onwards?the sensation of every passing moment in which your body ages but your mind drifts away sometimes in a forgotten innocence?the sounds of footsteps from the apartment above.The smell of the pending rain.The thoughts travelling away as you breathe out.

what about all these significant little moments of unimportance that came to be just because you noticed them for the first time?
when is the moment so perfect when you do not alone feel its importance?
when is physical distance more important than the actual distance two people can have or their intimacy?The feeling of such proximity that her breath becomes yours and her breathing words that don't come out but as heavy breath.The smell before rain.The dry soil waiting for a wet kiss.For a touch of this foreign moisture on it.
Feeling each person passing through you.Feeling open. To a feeling that reaches nowhere but journeys onward without ever stopping.That doesn't stop, doesn't reach its destination but crosses its target as if it wasn't there, as every person passing through you, getting lost like a stranded astronaut in space. Into the great void. Dragging you with it as goes on to forever...

Then you just swim backwards trying to cling to the first body that doesn't dissolve in your touch.One to hold you even if you chain it to the same forever. Until your chain becomes its own and the gravity pulls you back in. Then you let go. You let them go. Into the same pull. You keep on walking and every time you fear that chain a bit more. You retract within you. Within everyone. Within any excuse for not getting there. Getting trapped between endless bodies that conform with what everyone conforms to. Living your usual trouble every day.

Think of me as a loser as I let myself get lost in this forever, or find me somewhere in an infinite universe...

as you leave, I leave, όπως φεύγεις, φεύγω

it is a passing breath the one from my body.
είναι μια φευγαλέα ανάσα αυτή απ' το κορμί μου.
Heavy like some rain clouds.

Βαριά σαν κάτι σύννεφα βροχής.

I can hear it coursing in the air around me
Την ακούω όπως ξεχύνεται στον αέρα γύρω μου
and i draw it back in before it leaves.
και την μαζεύω ξανά μέσα μου πριν φύγει.
I exist there in that air,
Υπάρχω εκεί κι εγώ. σε κείνο τον αέρα,
the one i draw in and out incisively.
που φυσώ και ξεφυσώ αδιάκοπα.
Like existing under the sun or in the wave,
Όπως υπάρχω κάτω απ' τον ήλιο, στο κύμα μέσα,
in the shade of the only tree left standing.
κάτω απ' τον ίσκιο του τελευταίου που 'μεινε δέντρου.
I am stranded here as well,
Έμεινα κι εγώ εδώ,
but i can feel i am departing every second.
μα νοιώθω πως φεύγω κάθε λεπτό.
I still exist though, like something inside,
Υπάρχω ακόμα, όπως και κάτι μέσα μου,
like a landscape filed with clouds.
σαν ένας τόπος που πάντα σύννεφα έχει.
But i was born of sun;strange is this mist.
Μα εγώ γεννήθηκα από ήλιο' η αντάρα ξένη μου είναι.
Amidst a frenzy of people these moments
Μέσα σε μια ζάλη ανθρώπων αυτές οι στιγμές
like a brave dance in clouds of words,
σαν ένας ζεϊμπέκικος μέσα σε σύννεφα λόγων,
words spread like the mist of a cigarette
λόγων που απλώνονται σαν την ομίχλη του τσιγάρου
and there the senses get lost, i stand alone.
κι εκεί οι αισθήσεις χάνονται, βρίσκομαι μόνος.
Awake and still i am there,
Ξυπνώ κι είμαι ακόμα εκεί,
but i can feel i am departing every second,
μα νοιώθω πως φεύγω κάθε λεπτό,
in a last passing breath from my body
σε μια τελευταία ανάσα φευγαλέα
that i leave to you as my will and testament,
που αφήνω σε σένα σαν διαθήκη,
just to remember for a while i existed...
απλά για να θυμάσαι για λίγο ότι υπήρχα...

harry pothead and the cera repopulation

I was on the brink of starting an odyssey of harry potter movie viewing as i saw a new entry in skype. I always want to give an opportunity to people to tell me how annoying i am talking to them as they sign in, so when Karen did so there was no hesitation whatsoever. It is true that she never speaks to me first so i add that to my annoying factor and having received my fix i proceed into asking what happened with her fixed to break down laptop. She kindly as always explained to me that it had to be send out to the embassy of acer which provoked my curiosity since she is residing in a very central part of Germany which was supposed to have everything, from cameras and pc's to overgrowing Turkish population and exquisite kebab stands as a result. The reply i got was that it had to be send out to the acer company which was stationed in a northern German city. I immediately pictured the secluded dark location and went on to discover the code and purpose of this heretical company. The actual anagram of acer is cera which means deer and horned in ancient latin and although the bearing of horns is misjudged as a symbol of infidelity and scorn these days in the old pantheon days to bear horns meant you were blessed and fertile. Satyrs where the bearers of horn and we all know what they did. So i pondered in what seemed like forever in these two seconds time till i realized that there was a plan in repopulating the earth through broken down laptops. And there i stumbled upon the truth as to why the acer service was really awful:
they wanted to be able to monitor their subjects through a constant relation through computer crashes!
I had to tell Karen about this plot that would jeopardize her life, her laptop and her ability to call distant remote Arabian countries!But would she believe me...

midday tuesday's dim

There is this distinctive smell of a thunderstorm right before it hits you as you stand hopelessly in love starring those cute little ducklings at the park. And before it crashes on you it will hit your nostrils as this sure and unquestioned sign of impending moisture on the air. Then you are drown in a tsunami of mixed sentiments.
"Moisture?Oh my God! Did I forget the heater on?
"Do i look ok, kind of like Gene Kelly when he was singing in the rain,or should i go for the Clooney look in the perfect storm?"
"Is it maybe time to take this long thoughts like in the movies when someone faces his own end?"
Then the first drop hits you and all is gone and you find yourself in a baptism of water.
So i sat there in the midst of the pouring rain and went for my umbrella. With horror i realized i had none, so i punched a passing nun[action i performed only for rhyming reasons]and i was ready to hit the singing scene when suddenly i was facing a band of ruthless benedictan monks[they are vicious, mean and bloodofchrist thirsty]. I took to my ancient king fool lessons and adopted the old Chinese method of"idontknowwhodiditijustgothere", which is always more easy to do than to write. Unfortunately they counteracted that with the old "dontgiveusthatshit"technique and prepared to ascend on my bottom, ergo kick my ass.
The scene was set, the pawns were set, the rain was falling heavy and my umbrella was purple. it was truly a time for actions that speak louder than words, but since i am writing that down that means that words are actually more important for description's sake and that destroys my whole quest for action so i will skip some lines as i am not in the mood for action and adventure and buttkicking drama which usually sells out.
The end of this boring Tuesday morning found me holding on to my yellow umbrella, starring as the sun was slowly piercing the black clouds and proceeding to reign the sky as a true monarch. I yelled to hell with kings of the old and found the nearest cave where i presume to wait till the end of his days come happily ever after, amen...

εραστές στο καλοκαίρι

Δεν έτρωγαν πλέον…το μόνο που τους έθρεφε ήταν το άγγιγμά τους. Τυλίγονταν μεταξύ τους σαν δυο κισσοί που αναρριχώνται στα ουράνια. Κάθε φιλί, κάθε άγγιγμα κι ακόμα μια μπουκιά που πότε λαίμαργα, πότε αργά έκλεβαν ο ένας απ’ τον άλλο.

Ήταν μεγάλο εκείνο το καλοκαίρι καθώς πυράκτωνε τα κορμιά τους. Οι ακτίνες του ταξίδευαν πάνω τους σαν ένα τοπίο άγνωστο κι όμως κοντινό. Κάθε σπιθαμή τους έφερνε πέρα από λιβάδια που χρύσιζαν τα στάχυα, στις έρημες απόμερες έρημους, στα δάση τα πυκνά, στις λίμνες τις βαθιές και πάλι από την αρχή…Πάλι ένα διαφορετικό τοπίο. Ήταν σαν να ήξερες το τοπίο του εραστή σου όμως, πάλι σαν να άρχιζες ξανά, πορευόσουν σε ένα μέρος πρωτόγνωρο όπως κάθε μονοπάτι που είχε το όνομα σου πάνω. Κάθε κομμάτι ζητούσε την υπογραφή σου, το χάδι, το άγγιγμα, το φιλί…

Και σαν προσπάθησαν, μάταια, κάποια στιγμή να χωριστούν, μια περίεργη μαγνητική έλξη τους κρατούσε μαζί. Σε μια τροχιά γύρω από έναν πλανήτη που μέσα του συσσωρεύονταν όλα αυτά τα ξένα κι όμως οικεία αγγίγματα. Μεγάλωνε διαρκώς, μέχρι να εκραγεί και να τους τραβήξει σε ένα άλλο σύμπαν κι εκεί να δημιουργηθούν ξανά από την αρχή…

They ate no more...the only thing feeding them was their touch.They twirled into each other like vines that reach to the heavens.Every kiss,every touch was one more bite that once greedily and other times slowly the one would steal from the other.

It was a long summer, that burned in their bodies. Its rays traveled on them like a mystical, unfamiliar landscape yet in their grasp. Every inch brought them over pastries where the wheat would lay its golden head in the sun, to desolate deserts, to dense green forests and lakes deep plunging under their feet and back from the beginning all over. It was as if you knew the landscape of your lover, yet started again to learn every piece that was part of it. walking in a place that was unexplored, still had your name in every path you took.Every path that yearned your signature, your touch, your caress, your kiss...

And when they tried, in vain, one day to separate, a strange magnetic force kept them together. In an orbit around a planet that gathered all these foreign yet familiar touches. Growing ever larger until exploding into a new universe where they could be born anew...

movie scene

[Scene set in a typical apartment]

[Evening falls in the city]

Close up on the door handle, hand reaches for the knob

Cut

Internal of a bathroom in a typical city

Sun coming through the window

Yesterday someone left for another journey in a far away land

Letters being burned, so that words never find their way somewhere

Man entering the bathroom

Stops in front of the sink

Cut

Close up to the sink

Hands reach in the picture

Hands reach out of bodies

Bodies losing any proximity

Hand opening the tap

Water runs down the sink

Water being wasted for a stupid picture

Activists yell and demonstrate

Water still runs down and wasted in the sink

Thoughts still wasting in the mind unexpressed

Thoughts running like water until mind is burned

Hands filled with water slipping through cracks in the man’s hands

Quickly rushing the water to his face

Sequence repeated 4 times

Fixed posture of man in the same position and different cuts with attempts to speak

Words are in the mouth but sometimes the ones written compared to the ones uttered seem to lack in strength of penetration

The ability to speak openly without being able to back the words with actions is only human

There is a need for confirmation of a woman’s external figure’s attraction

Attraction is not shared unless a target through excessive interest is given

If excessive interest is given there is no interest for attraction

Confirmation of external’s figure’s attraction promotes involvement in a losing game

Forever bond in a losing attraction

Those that deserve our attention lose to those that actually get it

Man tries to articulate for the last time

Stops and bends over the sink

Cut

We see the back of the man and his reflection on the bathroom mirror

He closes on the mirror

Cut

Close up from the side of the man approaching the mirror

Cut

Man utters something

Cut

Man backs away from the mirror

Cut

View of the bathroom from the bathroom window

Cut

Man is leaving

Cut

Opens the door

Cut

Man walks out with thousands of tiny cuts

Last time I am playing in a movie that hurts so much he says

ανακαλύψεις[διαγραφή, καύση και αναισθησία]

Πολλές φορές πρέπει να σταματήσω τον εαυτό μου από το να στείλω ένα μήνυμα κάτι που μου θυμίζει ότι εντέλει δεν είμαι κακός άνθρωπος. Μπορεί να είσαι κι εσύ εκείνος ο καλός άνθρωπος που διατείνονται οι κύκλοι σου και να είσαι δυσαρεστημένη με το γεγονός παρότι θεωρώ ότι δεν καίγεσαι βασικά. Πάλι πολλές περιστάσεις με φέρνουν πίσω σε εκείνες τις στιγμές που οδήγησαν σε εκείνο το τέλος. Κάθε θύμηση του πόσο ευάλωτος μπορείς να γίνεις και πως όταν όλα φωνάζουν «φύγε» ποτέ δεν αξίζει να παλεύεις. Είναι τρομακτικό κάποιος που είναι τόσο καιρό πλάι σου να είναι τόσο ψεύτικος πέρα από όλα. Σκέφτομαι πως κάθε κοπέλα είναι έτοιμη να παρατήσει την σχέση της οποιαδήποτε στιγμή στην κατάλληλη προσέγγιση και με κάνει να πιστεύω πως δεν αξίζει να επενδύσω σε καμία σχέση, απλά στην κατάλληλη προσέγγιση και κυρίως στην αποχαύνωση εκείνων των άχρηστων πόρων καλοσύνης που μπορεί να είναι πιθανόν και άκρατος εγωισμός. Σκέφτομαι το λάθος να μάθω περί ηθικής όταν ο κόσμος είναι πιο απλός να μην έχω τέτοιους κώδικες. Αποφεύγω να στείλω κάποιο μήνυμα που θα παρακινήσει ακόμα έναν θλιβερό διάλογο μηνυμάτων που κοστίζει ιδιαίτερα στην τσέπη μου και στην διάθεσή μου και απλά καίω τα γράμματα και τα κείμενα που ανακάλυψα ζορίζομαι να σκίσω και να κάψω τα γράμματα αλλά νοιώθω καλύτερα στο τέλος. Υπήρχε η σκέψη της αποστολής τους αλλά προτιμώ απλά να δημιουργήσω μια ρετροσπεκτίβα σε ένα μέρος που κανείς δεν θα ψάξει ενώ έχει κάθε δυνατότητα και σίγουρα όχι εσύ που είσαι άσχετη με το internet. Ένα κομμάτι μου αναμφισβήτητα θέλει να βρεθεί εκείνος ο άνθρωπος που θα σε κάνει να πονέσεις εφάμιλλα άξια Υπάρχει τόσος κόσμος εκεί έξω που μιλά για σεξ και το καλοκαίρι και διαπιστώνω πόσοι άνθρωποι θέλουν μια σχέση αλλά δυσκολεύονται να την ζητήσουν καταφεύγοντας στο να λένε για και να ζητούν το ευκολότερο από τα κομμάτια της. Προς το παρόν δεν μπορώ να αντισταθώ από το να σου αφιερώσω ένα κομμάτι των archive που σου ταιριάζει με έμφαση στους στίχους και φυσικά στο ρεφρέν εκείνο…: fuck you anyway…

thoughts onto Nortopia

Here’s to you, on this summer’s rainy day. Sitting behind a glass as always. Raindrops crash their humid bodies against it, then slowly fade into the glass in my hands. It is a strange sight to watch the rainfall this time of the year. The elderly neighbors complain about the weather going mad. I can hear their voices from the apartment downstairs rising against the falling rain like the heat from the pavement. I can see it like a mist rising somewhere along with my thoughts. I wander if these thoughts will fade or reach into the sky dabbling into the clouds that traverse the air. They will journey, existing somewhere and I will forget all about them. Then one day just as the rain touches my head they will find themselves back inside my head. All of them I so desperately tried to get rid off. All it takes is a rain, like this one, on this summer day. Probably the fact too that anytime this happens I like to get soaking wet, rather than hear my neighbors complain. Just walk in the mist covered pavements with strange thoughts evaporating through them, tracing my walking figure and getting back at me trough the pouring rain.

The rain keeps on tapping on the roofs of the houses on my street and as anyone would wish for the sun I always wish for anything to take place this day. As I finish this wish I can feel the soft breeze stroking my extended face. Soon this caress will carry its hand across the city. I then plug the earphones into my ears so deep I can listen to the music coming out of my mouth and accelerate according to the rhythm into the rain swept streets.

And the wind keeps on waltzing through the trees in an increasing tempo. Growing wild in that Bowie song in my ears. I try to focus on the wind and leave aside all the other lyrics in the song. Maybe the wind will take away this physical attraction. Maybe I would use one natural phenomenon to avoid another. The wind breaks through everything. I can almost see it breaking through and into houses entering through the half open window shutters, lifting angry neighbors and plunging them on the street before it breaks into music and they start dancing their way on the pavement like a Fred Astaire musical. I retract the headphones thinking I have been watching too many happy American movies until I am brainwashed into dealing with wanting and hoping. I turn in the first corner I see past the lady from the 3^rd floor doing a pirouette and into the part of the street that still holds the rain. Somewhere where I will fill my head with strange alien thoughts again.

Behind the rain suddenly I see the mythical Nortopia rising through the clouds, somewhere far in the distant North. That’s my way. All eventually lead there and into the realization that people never grow. They still remain children but only games readjust to suit their needs. Nortopia: the magical kingdom, where realizations seem to happen. Where I can realize what infatuation means. Where I can translate this rain into millions of small hands touching me. Where I can see that there can only be one moment and a moment alone where this moment can be shared then it is forever gone without the certainty that it is will be the most important moment passing. Where I can understand that confirming oneself is more important than sharing a breath. Where a circle completes its turn into realizations and all end just so you can flip the page into a new fairytale.

Here’s to you on this summer’s rainy day wherever a rain may find you.

bouzoucarnation and death

I died, as I wanted today. It was the same typical day before the “godly” weekend for the average Greek. So many people pilled up again this Friday night in my would-be favorite bouzouki place, were I a devoted fan of this music. Instead it was the place where I would spend some carefree moments, lost between the misty highlands of the typical Greek entertaining club. Where the dew from the first cigarettes surfaces slowly through the tables, rising in the starlit roof. In front of the bright lights looming over the dance floor deep in the night turning into day at the debut of every light bringing musical hit. I would gaze upon the constellations on that sky as the projectors spark in the distance; I would stay there wishing a star would fall so I can make a wish. But it was like there was no supernova; life would still thrive in those distant stars and everything remained glued in its place like an unseen force kept them there in contrast to the laws of gravity. It was the same laws that seemed to be present during my journey to the lower atmosphere as I was crossing the mist, enflamed in the bright light of the blinding spotlights. The crowd was like a giant mass before I jumped. So many targets that seemed to break once in a while from the mass that was waving in this oriental oriented music. Quivering like snakes in a giant cradle, intoxicated by the sounds of the grand magician that ruled the foothills of the misty mountains of the dance floor. There were many of them with different ranks but I waited patiently for the master high priest to make an entry, anointing his disciples through the rites of his religious teachings. Spreading “the word” as the crowd would cheer in ecstasy flooding the ground he walked upon with carnations- a symbol of religious love-respect and recognition to his teachings. I saw the crowd again reminiscing in the images the psalms offered them, those of post loves and the shuttering of their heart over the loss of the prolonged sexual integration with the artist in every verse. I had to find an eligible target…

Maybe I targeted the bosom of plenty, the woman with the white shirt carried as an offering to appease the “God-Dog”. That woman standing on a table, making breast waves that fluctuated with the orchestral tempo. I probably thought of my failure to terminate my existence should it happen I dived between her breasts with a great splash that would cover the people in the vicinity with breast drops. That would be an unfitting end to drown in the abyss of those tidal waves in that titsunami or even worse to survive swimming my way to the closest island. Bearing that in mind I made a spectacular change in midair, a product of all these dance lessons that I finally got to put to good use. My stage dive took a turn as I made my way on the big Cuban cigar of a well-respected politician, swirling like a super hero around it somewhere on the label that read, ”Made in China” and with a double swing I ended smack in the face of the master priest with a tremendous speed like a shooting star, around the time he was singing: “Your love was like a poisoned bladder, you got me grounded six feet under”[a great success I might add]. The impact was so hard that our bodies melded into one. You could no longer discern two separate human beings. We became a heap of flesh, carnations and shining-glitter covered cloths…

After the smoke cleared, there was only a big shinning ball of many unidentified objects. Like those balloons filled with helium that your parents bought you in the fair along with caramel apples. We felt we were rising on the air flying towards the big light-stars with an increasing speed. It was all so bright, like a big star going supernova. We closed our eyes…

In what I thought was the next day I opened my eyes. I was bathed in light and beautiful angelic like creatures in white gowns seduced me with their continuous rhythmical moves. Cherubs with black wings swirled in front and around me. I felt my body shining in the divine light and I sensed the touch of rose pedals on my face. Then my lips moved all by themselves in a praise to the lord all mighty…

“Your love was like a poisoned bladder, you got me grounded six feet under”

Indeed death is not the end. It is merely the next step to a different world…

[ announcement ]

well here's to you who insisted i have a blog.Now i have it.So i hope you noted down the web address and dont ask me gain in skype the same thing over and over again!Bless you motherfuckers and remember that a mother is a sacred person.

into the landscape of music

strolling across the city, with music on. The music is not the only thing that fills me; images come at me like flying through a corn field. The music's increasing tempo hastens my steps as i try to soothe my inner demons. My heart races and every part of my dignity force me not to swirl, following the sounds that reasonate playfully inside my head. Images quickly change; forests then fields that bury themselves into mountains, reaching high then plunging themselves into deep seas and resurface, tracing the water until i find myself back into my body, walking in the city. I believe that the music will get you out of my head. I am wrong.

a cat's tale

I was sitting on the balcony when the cat from across the street made her way into my garden, it wasnt actually my garden but the neighbor's but i liked it so much that it could have been mine to begin with.I tried to intiate a conversation but i remembered i didnt know that language as it was in my schedule to apprehend-couldnt find the time though. So there i was with nothing to say until another cat showed up and started talking to my cat; she wasnt my cat but i would like her to be so, which meant i had the right to think so. They started talking to each other probably about my incompetence to utter a single miaow- i don't know if they were talking about that but i was feeling so bad that i couldnt, i just took for granted that they talked about that. After 3 hours or so she left. I watched her distancing herself hopping around waving her tail and leaving me no tale to tell. I grabbed a back of unfinished whiskas and nearly choked on them till i was full. Washed it down with a glass of milk. Then i miaowled all night at myself-i am not used to milk and it always gets me-about not knowing the language and customs. Sometimes words come later than expected. Actions follow long after the words sometimes.

missing a storyline to forever along the road

Returning seems some time as empty as when leaving to fill yourself with something. Countless kilometers. Endless rows of people cross your eyesight. Their stories entwine with yours for just brief moments. But then it is that your eyes are filled with images that don't change. Hidden in the security of your deepest pockets. Stuck in the inner chamber of your thoughts. Like a tune you got tenaciously in your mouth, one that you heard and wont leave your lips until you sing all the song and fill your ears with this melody. Could be a whim only to just enjoy this brief tune. What if this tune is in your mind for such a long time? What if you cant ever get its words right? Always in this predicament were you cannot sing it. Always trapped in this crowd that stares at you on the first attempts to catch this wonderful tune. You just know what it feels like to want something so badly and then miss on the only opportunity to have the chance to fill your mouth with this melody that breaks in your lips like a tidal wave. Some words i can speak, sometimes maybe sound this, but should i had this moment again, i can sing this tune. I can pass it on to you as strongly as the feeling of this desire. But then that is the thing with moments. You have it for such a little time and then it is gone. And i missed my chance of having more of those.

[ anouncement-with no reason ]

Some part in constructing and deconstructing angels will follow