The state of Happiness

It is when you listen to this one tune that your life has played on....
"she made her way back home, strolling strolling alone she hated some she needed some and she loved some... "

hit by the FISH

Yesterday night there were these little ghosts above my head swirling in a carouzel. They had all faces of men I had met, men I chose to lean on for one second of sunshine and was appalled for one second of rain. Not that many they were, otherwise they would not be able to form that carouzel above my head... But still they were swirling and their stories were drilling in my head simultaneously. The threads of the resolutions never reached to a knot because once one knot dared to be fondled the competing thread rushed in to remind me of another resolution. Insomnia... officially.. the ultimate state of awareness that tortures you to be aware that you want to fall asleep and you try to understand whether you are falling asleep but YOU ARE NOT. So I open my window I listen to the late car passing by its last chance before Sunday dawns on it and moi who is still awake despite my wise 1:30 am night 'curfew.'
I think it was sudden. I took this piece of cloth and wiped off the carouzel. Why are we going in rounds for? My road on Charlotte Street takes a turn but then it goes straight into Oxford Street and then down to the underworld heaven of Soho and if I choose to walk down Oxford there will be at its end the paradise expensive car Parkway Street... if I am not mistaken. I remember pictures not names.
Here comes the light and comes the sleep we remember the pictures not the names... my head rests on names rather than pillows ... and now it is the time to trust my pillow and fall into its abyss.
The abyss took me to places where I was cooking fish with pasta in a huge casserole and one of the men, shaved now, was telling me to stirr better.
I am too refreshed to stirr anymore... and so all of them can remain in their little casseroles stewing about what spice to add ... I choose to defer and wake up in the cold sunshine of Charlotte Street, hit by rain it is now clean and calm un-disturbed by cars on an alone Sunday. Time to slide and no more carouzel rounds of pink fish and black horses.
Goodmorning.

You will never know...

The moments you gave me you will never know they are worth a life. The first breath of my dream you heard but it was left unnoticed. Unwritten, unspoken of then. What unites us is not words, what unites us is the 'not.' A negation is ever so stronger than affirmation, than you can know, than you can learn. Because negation breeds the existence of the state it negates too. For how can negation exist if it owns nothing to negate? It is like the stars you take notice of sometimes on the sky. They are there but you know they are only there because time has separated their past death from you. And so they look like present. But they are not future.
Negation you see, is strong. Not future but future will come and when it comes future it will be not.
What is present in me you cannot see or cannot enter because once you do, it negates itself from the vastness of its being. If you can take notice of me distinctly then it cannot be me but a mere piece that forms your thoughts on the wider of the "me."
So don't. I would rather you will not know.
It is only then that you will know... because negation is strong..
it will keep you searching for what there is not...And it is that 'not' that our hearts desire
whether you know it or ... not

You get OVER it

When you get OVer IT. You put some veil Over it. Do not misunderstand the words because they, in turn, will misunderstand you. They will stand under you when you least expect it.
Because when you Get Over It you have surgically removed all that was It. Almost everything that is, some mementos are left to remind you the good because you respect what you had.
Across my window the familiar faces are not sitting in their offices and it is 10:37 am. Where is he? That businessman who always looks outside the window when he is on the phone. But I know, he will be there soon. He is probably not in view or in a meeting. He is there anyhow, it is his daily duty to be there whether I take notice of him or not.
Today is one of the days I am taking notice of such small and big things. I am exceptionally awake for the mornings that my brain is still unthoughtful and unreasoned. But maybe I am very much unreasoned in my thoughts today or rather in my feelings. It must be the sad dried and yet fresh clothes that await to be picked up by my hands and put into their place.

What you remove was there once, and there will be a memory of it. What, the dried clothes?
Charlotte Street is cunningly quiet for the time of the day, only some leather-jacket motorbikes disturb the internal peace of my window-glasses. The temperature is changing
the glass is unmoved and yet in its atoms: contraction/ lub/diastole/duv and the cycle keeps on being repeated...
what makes you think we are so different that once we are caught on diastole we contract on it and contraction never pushes inwards again?
One comes to call the other ad infinitum and so there must be hope...

the Idea that permeates through Substance

becomes Substance.Have you ever considered that "separation from" can initiate a process of slow induction into the very matter that one separates from oneself. So with me it happened. It starts like a joke. In fact it is a joke. I will use "we" so that we can all participate into the subtle penetration of the idea into the substance. We play with fire, a match, it is a joke. We fondle it with our fingers, we try to make its fire fade a bit, we try to blow it through our fist, we try many things. Some we achieve, some burn us. But it is small burns after all, in front of the challenge of tricking a match.
After the little burns we continue. The challenge grows all the more... it is exhilarating. Do we understand that we are caught in the challenge itself, it is the challenge that moves our fingers, that burns our fist, that makes our eyes focus in a mania to fulfill the trick. As the challenge grows the match burns on... Does it occur to us that the match will eventually burn out? No. In the back of our head maybe yes. But let us talk consciously as much as we could.

So the match burns out. And our fingers are empty, the little burns remain, the fist desires the challenge of the fire through once more, and twice more.. and many more times.. but the match is burnt.

Now you must find this absurd. Who would invest emotion in a match trick?
But then again, the more you pretend to ignore the match the more it is a parasite within you and then slowly from a host the desire of the match is the match itself within you. See how we have become you? It is all about the "you," the separation. We participate but the "you" separates.

When it is burnt and the match stands like an idea, the "you" cannot escape the "match" or the desire for it, one and the same thing, by way of life-conditioning, and the "we" bangs inside the "you",,, the "you" is within "me" and the two people of a we are one within the "me" and the idea permeates through substance and by way of separation you have managed to call inside to make part of your DNA the "me."
The Ego slips in and the "you" and the "we" are invoked...

Where am I getting at?
If you suddenly realized at one irrelevant moment that something is still inside you, it makes you cry or it makes you laugh, you can call it "love"
you cannot erase it and you cannot forget it because we are not just material... but substance and it is part of your substance in material terms it has slid under your skin and it burns the deposits of your memory in a way that no "material" match can...
And you can guess right : the "match" does not actually ever burn out.. but in..
in the "we"

Pure shores...

I am having a dream these days. I am writing a text this morning and as I type in the words I feel water overwhelming my eyes. No this is not the text. It is the text where I say thank you for giving life to me and for making me Zoe.

This life to live on pure shores, ignorance of the pain of the cut of the ambilical cord... I gnorance of too many Ofs and Ifs..

And for this I thank Eufrosyni... :)
who gave birth to me, who plants unconditionality into Zoe...

One of my favorite son

And So The Story Goes by Maria Montell album:

She's on the dusty road alone Travelling, travelling, travelling alone She loves to laugh, she loves to live, and she loves to love She left her home and family To find the thing she couldn't see From the window in her house in the countryside Bridge: This small town girl needs to fly To reach her dream in the sky Ai yai yai Chorus: And so the story goes Di da di di da di da di da di da di da di And so the story goes Di da di di da di da di da di da di da di She came to town and went to stay And found a reason there to stay She saw the row of folks vanishing in the welfare lines And then she made her way back home Strolling, strolling, strolling alone She hated some, she needed some, and she loved some Chorus Bridge Chorus Di da di di da di da di da di da di da di

gs to keep us going through this tough period of transcendence:

PROTEST

I hereby submitt a protest to whomever cares or does not care. To all the radio stations, to all the singers, to all the people , to everybody to make this completely inclusive. STOP playing the song "Goodbye my lover." Yes , if there ever was a way to flinch me out of my written dream-world it is the playing of this song EVERYWHERE. I am tired of mourning. I do not want to mourn. I have no reason to mourn, nobody is dead. I am actually quite scared of writing such things, that nobody is dead because who knows by the invocatory power of language someone might actually die. What have I gotten myself into?
Well, you can see where this "Goodbye my lover" song takes a person. Takes a person? Where does it take the person. It takes away the person? See? All leads to DEATH...
Enough with Goodbye my lovers and tears and lalalalla oh the romance that died. Come on.. Come on to another woman, another man whatever you want... so many people out there ... Oh but the romantic lover will say " but there is only one"
WHO in the world told you or anybody there is only one? Do you watch too many Hollywood movies?
I am tired. Goodbye my lover. How about a song " Hello my lover...." hehehe
What is this love of depression? It goes against the whole spirit of having a lover anyway. The reason for a lover is to be loved .... whatever that means for every person. But I am sure that a lover must make you happy not sad ( ok exception if he or she dies which is out of your control[ except if you cause which is in your control]).
So, say goodbye to your "LOVER" when he or she dares to put a tear on your face. Once the first tear falls you know he or she is fallen too. He is no longer a lover.

I am very harsh you will say. So is the lover... with his or her acts and the songs that are produced because of HIM> or her....

Enough with goodbyes.... ... get yourself A good buy next time;)

pleasure : a replenishment simply

I am listening to an old Greek song pou na brw ena filaraki .. where can I find a pal to put my shoulder on.. It is amazing how translation can lose the feeling of the memories and non-memories I have of this song. Every time I hear it it acquires a new meaning. I cannot find any solution and tell me what to do and time laughs at me like a baby. Where can I lean my body when I come back from bars and staying out late times. I am here. I am smiling, the translation of the song has stopped now. Only one last line to translate : since you, too, have disappeared...
Such a pleasure it is to listen to the melody of a song that connects to a not so happy childhood because I am here and because I was there. So what I am replenishing ? This pleasure is enriching the picture which has more than three dimensions on it. It has days, seconds, laughters and tears and zebra-crossings and glances and thoughtless existence. What is a thoughtless existence? There is no thoughtless, it is just that we tend to forget that we are alive through the small things that make up our life. And this song reminded me I am alive. You can laugh if you want after reading this. I will be happy to have offered you non-sense ( according to you) but hey you still laugh... are you still laughing... are you thinking ... Is this a thoughtless moment of your existence? Are you forgetting something or reminding yourself of something else?

The replenishment tonight comes when I know very well that all involves change: metaboli as we say in Greek which is an "after-hit" freely translated but this time the meaning is successful. The next hit is harder but the receiver is already hardened.

Whether you care if we are dead or alive, we are here and we forget and remember in seconds, in dreams, in coffees, in dinners, in hours, in days and years.... in a bottle of wine or a shot of zibania... in a song

This song of Life I dedicate to a dear friend... tonight and for the rest of her life...