Craze of Heart

red is the heart that pumps the blood
red is the vibration beeping the neurons in the brain

stupid fish.

stupid fish.

blue is the water of the inspiration

blue is the sadness of the creation.


purple is the varnish that covers fingers

purple is the shiver that colds the skin.


Look at nothing and buy nothing.

the kiss of Life

The big miracle. Wow/

Paranoid about the Big to come. The Big reappears in sound.

Picture seems to have lost itself these days. Effects have taken over.

Words and ears are overworking these days before the Big change.

you jump on a sleigh and roll down the hills of the unexpected break-downn.

Once you break down then everything becomes simple. You know what to do.

Take my instructions and tear them apart. I only follow them if somebody pays me.

When they come without a reward I just float around in fantasy.

I listen to it again and again in case I understand the voice.

Just in case I fall in love with myself, just incase I realize that I am alive.

Do we really know that we are alive and what it means to be THAT?

Welcome to life and put all of your efforts to kiss it wildly

even if that kiss lasts one millisecond in your mind, in your eyes

or rather buzzing in your ears.

Etched on my pupils

Etched on my pupils is my journey

Some looked but looked for something else

Some looked and bounced back on the screen

Some looked when they were looking for nothing.


Random is how those people who predict work

State a couple of possible words and one may fit

and then you may get hit.


here I am: I listen to what happened to another

and know it was mine.

I speak myself truly and do not mention

that is because I speak myself truly


To myself I do not recall any any tension.

all I ve got is all I ve got

Light take this complaint

up to your planet of those who faint

Small travelling love lost like a star burnt

I am not asking you to stay forever

but Long enough till the laughter dies

close the door and I will not stare

into that which you are scared to make love to.


Close your eyes when the door closes behind you

you will find yourself with me.

It does not all come in a shotglass

I have returned
I am swimming through the thunder

I call him to come and play
with my habits of drama

Dread shall fill and has
the hearts of those who leave
and then return

You left because there was
You have returned because there is

but what was is until there is
that which you will stay

was painful but will not
until it is and then you


must dare to Live.

It is fun to burn

I have entered the same river for the second time.

The first, remember. All most unable to be played again this play.

His face was the play, his laughter where I laid.


Not a girl who does not speak am I not.

I spoke with New 'Two' a lot. 'No, you are wrong.'

I said.

'I did want it a lot.' Take two, scene one here we go again.


God pressed repeat and Zoe went down the drain.

It is fun, it is fun to burn, ashes, smoke and rain.

Rising rising slowly within : the smoke breathes

the ashes dust the breath and the rain paints

the road I am not going to go down again.

Wonder

the Eyes were flying through the bars yesterday night.

Her Peripheral view was focused on a certain object-ive.

No Object for Eve.

She ejected the rum onto her brain cells rainfaling down her tongue.

"I am too shy to answer that question." __________this non-miss

The thunders started in the background. The tent started moving down. ______down the road

The vibrations on the table woke up louder.

She was looking intensely at the leaves of that tree

and behind it thunders. ____________________to the port of bliss...

The beat blinded her peripheral view for those seconds.

And it was a wonder.

"I have won my dear"

her heart whispered to her brain.


"And we are back back in the game"

yOUR pOeM under construction [takE ONE)

My vehicle wave is the orange.

Lemon fuel for the girls down the azzure.

Sit on the path-'know' thy ledge.

And breathe, the antique ghost of your life evaporates.

\The shudders closed to keep the rain outside within us the water.

within us the wave is the water towards my vehicle.

Outside the rain in the water is within you.

The cracks popped through the cloud to say "I am leaving now."

Eixes mia lampsi magiki

Tin kserw autin tin stigmi tin exw zisei

san ena potiri pou peftei kai spaei stin kardia sou

alla briskeis ta gyalia sto patwma.

Isws na parakseneutoun. Omws den me noiazei.

Den fhmizomai gia tin paradosiaki ka8arotita myalou alla gia mia alli.


Prospa8isa ksereis na to ferw konta...

Ma esy 8a trekseis na kryfteis.


Kai omws den perase mia mera pou antigrafw to file 3 xronwn pisw sto hard drive.

Eggrafetai siga kai mystika me tin eklipsi.

I epistrofi tou kakou i tou kalou.

Kai ksafnika isws na briskomai ston paradeiso.


Giati den kserw poia tin diafora metaksy twn dyo.

Auto pou eixa eixa, auto pou eixa.

Auto pou den exw.


ps: Kai apopse grafw sta ellinika giati kserw oti autos pou 8elw na to diabasei einai Ellinas.

Are you Irish? No, I am Greek

Where from? Thessaloniki is the city.

Silent vibrations tingle the round clots in my brain tonight.

The language kills me.


We look at the screen at a random moment: The Irish boy singing.

He reveals: "No, I am Greek." "Where from boy?" "Salonica"

He runs off. and I am reborn via IT>

God has a sense of humour it is true

he played a little joke on me too.

Do not PANIC and above all thanks for the fish...

When it hurts, it does not have to be specific, you can try standing out in the rain.

When it does not, it has to be very very relative, stay in the closed circle of the sun.

Surrender to the under current of the 'sur' for itself shall take you up and down to the south, for the south is always that which shall take you further. Walk.

The north only knows to pump hard and fast and fasten you staring at the drops falling or the sunshine dazzling. There is always an ad-jective to fit the objective.

An additive to an obstacle why is it added?

Is it to eject or to reject it as it is?

My advice is to take those parts part retract the ropes of your heart delved into years and years of bonding and let them float a bit into the aegean.

The sea makes it all better. The sea makes it all better. The sea the sea the sea.
bet the air the sea you shall see the air gets better in the right bet.

I knew before

Tonight they sat together on the white marble of their balcony.
The stars were lit, the candle too, mosquitos awoke attacked.

Mother says he never can be philosophical with her.
But Mother and him always sit down and talk about what-ifs.

And now she and he sit on their two huge pillows.
She on blue and he on red; she knows what they share.

They stare at the dead tonight, he brought binoculars
to peep a little at the life he, she will not live.

"Because we are watching them die, but they are already dead"
she says. Binoculars are put down. He is scared.

To know that he will not live years of light.
She says they will, part of spark they can, at least, be.

She moves her pillow to the corner. His tears fall silent and transparent.
Her tears are made of smoke into the eery black.

"You know what you and I share, more than a philosophy"


We share the silence my dear brother.

That

I cannot choose to share with noone else.

I had that dream, I knew. So I was prepared.



Are you?

I know that you have found me: )

The door opened and the sea poured into my eyes.

Then, the sun splashed onto it and rivalled an affair with my pupils.

There was once a secret garden. Shhh.. only birds whose name is yellow

speak of the location unknown to the glamded...underground mice

Hal hail all haze down to the mares of zebra-stripes and wondrous bite of a meal

a sole swimming down the litte ocean path screamed up high to the yellows

the yellows shocked themselves into mermaids that jumped down onto a surface

that crystallized itself into sugar and fell through becoming one with the grains of sand..


better with you mad...than all alone sane...

(as we say in Greece)

come into my secret garden...

come come again in two my seacrest pure den...

One ! Two! Three! Four! watch me push it!

One: Wave embellished in the smell of metal, le notti del terrore, amazing, boy, excuse the abuse, friend, today has been day of the the fire-drill cospired against a woman who has magic found magic...: The technical:ah and aural:oh achievements: woha..

Two: In my corner, in my place, light it up and wait, rises and falls of books, Greek lives, fashionably late after the alarm back to the green light which produces the love of my life. Chased by paper, rise above the mountain of white like a queen, lists of verbal and uncoscious actions within dreams of what they could be saying.

Three: What did your face look like when you thought you learnt? I could have paid money to have seen this. Imagination paid me the right visit yesterday, it was fun.

Watch me: This is not literary,,, quite literal in its sense of jouissance, bonjour aujourdhui, the not mad not woman not in the attic down London bridge away from The BIG EYE though
staring down

the horizon
I hide away from or not
if I feel like looking up...ein the distance
I find a little ashtray made for four toi.!

Push it: Livia and life of the time to take your own party for your party to the per tea dazed into the bed of running away from ridiculous situations, wake up and smell the burnt... pot...

Did you forget the gas on again dare-bling?

Bling bling bling, ding ding ding...Hello..

Drop it you cannot lose it.

The light flickers of one of the office's across flickers disrupting the calmness....

picking A man is frantically picking up the contents of a box from the night's pavement. He size-zero looks old as if he came out of a size-zero marathon with grey woman slightly long hair wrapped in a little bow making him look like hair an old woman but he is a man.

His carton box probably broke from the weight that he was carrying the weight. Post-its colored grey the
the business cards spread like salt
down the women straight lines that a gang of drunken down women walk down.

He is plastic picking up papers, plastic folders
little frantically like a little mouse nibbling
on the last bits of mouse cheese. Faster and faster

as if were a disaster were city about to fall upon the city of London.
There are few only a left-few minutes left.

within carton another two carton boxes He is reinserting his property ,
looks neurotically around neurotically serious.

he is that man or woman ( I wonder if I could never tell) who works late at that looks like a living-room that office that looks like a living-room on the right across my window.

It is half midnight an hour past gone and he is now.
left the pavement on nothing from the schedule fall or the break in his schedule.
His agenda packed tight among the official documents rest the official documents.

It is alright now.

You have picked up all of your pieces.

Settled NOT

Dear Not,

I fell in love with you ever since I fell out of that cave called womb.
Since then zero has been the favorite number and nil annihilates me every second.

The sunshine settles in April, a month more friendly for London, a month less friendly for those in business.

Dear NOT not,

My whatnot keeps me holding the rails of the underground on the stiff necks of passengers eyelidded dark and heavy down the sound of metal.

I have stepped on you often and then stepped back. Because I could not hate that which makes me lack.

Luck of lack I shall call it my love of not. I was born with you and seasons come and seasons get slit but you and I are here with heat and steam making room for more

negations and more annihilations of that which I am not.

Not me, not you, are you me or am I you? Not?

Play with me, you do, and I shall play you too.

Why CANT we rewind?

The weather surely can. I thought it was spring. March is said to be the first month of spring and the sun and the sunshine and the breeze warming through my formally dressed body made me dream of summer.

Not today. The snowstorm caught with London and me. The weather decided to remember and relive those unforgiving moments of wind pushing you at the crossroad to cross when cars have still not stopped.

I have been bought two times the present of a clock. Mostly because it is hard for me to wake up in the morning.

Despite my wealth in clocks I cannot seem to get one to work and the other one to stop.

I wish I could rewind them both to my own beat, the beat of this very word that you are reading now, the beat of how, the beat of not now, the beat of return, the sweet return of the water war in garderns smeeling of cement and uncontrollable children ramaging flowers that have not yet grown.

STEAM OUTSIDE THE STEAMROOM!

I m going to live forever. I am going to learn how to fly.

Being a fly on the wall and a wallflower has its perks too I have learnt during my absense from the steamroom.

What is the cryptic way of saying THIS?

THIS is the this I have hated, loved, accepted, fought, defied and returned.

THIS hides a death residing in me, in mine, in his and for life.

THIS hopes and now acquired new cells fresh with cleansing tea, yoga, clubbing, dancing, mellowing down the solution pumping out of Greek veins eager to explode into

a bonfire, beat the sky and the sun for being naughty and hiding away from me, stare

up towards forward the blue that I have missed by holding tight onto the underground bars

trembling when the happy mouse of London comes out of under the ground, the sudden breaks of sunshine, of rain burst within an S and the THIS wake up time to work

drain drain me gangsters of London, attempt to laugh, attempt to whisper your spells beside your headset and I will be there for you during your sad,
your happy
your stupid

times.



and now enjoy your spring.

heavy snow falls on Charlotte Street

Yes, the time came when I had to call on snow to come and cover that which I would never want to grow. And as snow makes me forgive and forget I walk slowly and cautiously on the icy pavements of Charlotte Street aware that one fall could ruin it all.

The others have slowed down too, the Londoners were taught this morning, as I walk with care, that sometimes one has to walk slow whether one wants it or not.

Here I am, then though melting into the snow, my guardian of time, my guardian of that which cannot be mine.

It is all around us everyday that which the snow covers but we do not just bother to notice, we take it just as something that happens.

Two weeks ago I knew and now I know. I have learnt my lesson well when it comes to heavy snow.

Now is the time to tread lightly and pass the exam of what I call the crisis of my life-show.

State of mind

Frame this color for me please. I will keep it for later.

But the color may fade away. Yes, but it was once framed for me.

done bedsheets

I look at the tidy straight vertical and horizontal paradise. The settings are customized according to my schedule of eyelids.

I dusted my bedsheets and the tears fell off dropped down to the cafe under my window.
An Italian stepped over them and their existence stopped. That existense of the past.

The bottles are in line, the dishes are shiny and bright. The hair is straight, the eyes are brown, the sky is hosting the sun today.
The visitors come and the snow too and when they go snow escorts them

The "life" goes on in certainty of that unsure break to come or not, in certainty of the car stopping at the zebra crossing for me or not.., in certainty of a plan I have not yet made, of a plan I would like to make
but I do not know the words of or the roads.

I am on my way... I will return again and then I will leave too and then again...