the moment I lost when the clock skipped

Where did that moment go ?

The hands slide on the bars of the underground and I return with palms imprinted with a stranger's touch. Rinsed the blank ink appears and what was written goes down the drain.

The rising sign wakes up late in the evening against its usual clock-ward round and the scene appears. The "eyes" become codes of lines read but the interpretation becomes a literary controversy. One can, one could, one would, one should change the topic of conversation. The game of neurons begins: the caffeine beats them hyperactive today. Their networking is overflooding the grey matter: indifference.

Goodmorning. Stop thinking. That is your job: do the small talk. Only that shall take lead you to the BIG FISH.

"Θα περάσει αυτή η νύχτα θα περάσει που διαόλια με έχουν πιάσει"

.................................................................................

(The song stays the same, no matter what I do......... to alter its psychic memo. )

One night of white two people came together in a secret mission to whiten up eachother with the frostbite of fresh snow. And the grey road of Coventry became white and the door opened for the four legs to tremble-run outside. At the odd moment one snowball fell on one place and on another more expected look of eyes the cold was shared among the two.

Then their footsteps formed an unknown dance. They run towards the corner of the road forever. They looked further down. Their laughters with tears embraced the cold together echoing the silence of winter, of their own.

Last I heard from them two they never returned to the footsteps they left behind...

ex-orb-size

There is one picture every person returns to when they stand naked in front oneself. There is one person every person orbs towards fueled by thoughts the other vibrates and causes an action of vibration on a screen possibly.

This is because this person is your own person and without knowing he is, your past, your present, and your future. He is your present and you are his. This irregular and yet constant reminder comes with random attacks trigerred by no reason other than your need of survival. There is no life without these thoughts and for this reason these thoughts do come. And with the thoughts comes existence. And with existence comes action. And out of action emerges a pattern.

When the size of the pattern grows large the distance between the two people cannot stand itself and explodes the two away or entangles them in one. It is just that just as the simultaneous one after the other vibrations are reciprocated in the same manner the sudden epiphany of the pattern that has been woven has to be realized by both of these two persons.

This is called "to ex-orb-size": to learn to love methodically together.

This de-man-d does not exist.

Leniency in the matter was allowed by both sides I suppose. The woman pretends to asks who is calling, the man pretends he cannot hear from the other side of the line. He calls back once more. He gets to the point. There and then she puts a period on her voice. The lenience dies as she walks nervously down the aisles of the luxury store.

They hang up on the word "kisses".
Sits down. Rages silently.Escapes from the picture she has painted herself in.
There is no way out. There is no way in either.


Because this man does not exist.

Where is your head now?

The collage of pictures, despite being double-stuck on the wall with duck-tape, keeps falling sideways pushed by the the little wind-thieves breaking into the keyhole of the door. There she smiles, there is the black and white clown in Barcelona and the blonde girlie playing with a grey kitten. There are the notti del terrore, there is ending a happy new year, there is Cher and Baby Spice, there is Hiroshi Watanabe, there is a note with a human skull on it, there is a man hugging two heads of women, there are two pairs of shoes staring at eachother, there is "God Bless our God" inscribed on a gun, there is the bar with bottles crammed on it, there is many women with their hair entangled with each other, there is Hiroshi Watanabi, there is a sculpture of women embracing one another, there are the notti del terrore, and there is her mother's note four years ago: "Have a good day, a good month, a good year, and good and happy life forever for you".

And there is Louise Bourgeois whispering to the wind-thieves every minute they touch: "I have been to hell and back and let me tell you it was wonderful"!

to the left...

Dont you think you are irreplaceable... for one second. She thought to herself for himself in her mind.

Once you go down the stream of daze and drown in its ecstasy you acquire a special power. It is called Distancing yourself. You have two selves. One is enjoying being flipped in the air at the dancefloor by the hands of a man who seems to adore you. The adore examines and observes behavior and files in the back of your mind what should be taken care of. And there you go....

How absent can one character be when he or she changes through the influence of a substance? You must have an absent character if you tone it all down the next morning.
Whereas III have not changed, despite the intoxication, my views on how I behave.

The beautiful moment of orgasm arrives when you just know this is so not for me.
"Pull yourself together and get a life man..."addressed to the "un-dressed" man...
"The World is mine". Thanks for offering it to me but I have it already. Plus the expressions of Love and affections I have heard before I know the poem by HEART...


We regret that we will not be accepting any unsolicited mateterial at the present or in the foreseeable future.

Best wishes,


Kaberet's Prophecy

Who is who

This is not usually a political space. But polis is part of where we live, the city. The city of the world. A man is sentensed to hang because he killed 148 people. To stop him another man killed some thousands of the same nationality people. The first is said to be hanged and the other one is hanging over our heads as leader of a great nation.
Some people of this nation come up with such funny lines :Can we watch his head being popped off ?

ooOOOooo please dont cover his face, I want to see "his" fear knowing that he is going to die!



I guess this kinda kills his mood for the 40 virgins eh :)"

I feel shame for the human nation to know that such "humans" exist.

Blood is not retrieved with blood. Because blood cannot be retrieved.

If you want to be shocked go to http://boards.msn.com/MSNBCboards/thread.aspx?ThreadID=117565>1=8717

and read what some 'humans' have written about this.

Just because the freak show is happening far away from us does not mean we have to applaud...
I am appalled.

Who is Who

A pink band wraps round your eyeballs fainting your vision.
So you stop and paint it black to make it more like a heart-attack,
Instead of admitting the wrong choice of colour to bind
The image translated in opposite segments of neurons
Has been constructed by the Holy Spirit and you, who is who
Does not accept the intervention of interrogation

A brain is a brain but when you color it with past interrogation
There will come no feeling thrown up like a heart-attack
When you search for the mysterious potion pinching his vision.
There comes a period of a second of a meeting of neurons
When they come to agree and tell attraction who is who.
He will find in the course between you, the table, that to bind

Means more than oysters pinched with shells to bind
The flesh of what comes in open mouth not in interrogation
Rather in reflection on your own flesh under a heart-attack.
You were drunk, you the white wine, away from your vision.
What is wrong with putting to sleep a couple of neurons
And letting the man opposite you tell you who is who

In the Belgian restaurant where you cannot tell who is who
Because who you have in front of you takes up all your vision.
Cocktails is his suggestion following like a heart-attack
Rendering his approach all the more damaging to the neurons
Of your objective perception therefore you want to bind
Him and you in one capsule avoiding the interrogation

Of any reality check-up on a first date interrogation.
Isn’t it that he is clearer now than then against your vision?
The erupted question tortured your neurons
Ever since his one after the other cancellation like a heart-attack
Unexpected, sudden all the symptoms which bind
Your little breath into a premonition a demon WHO

Whispers like the short-glassed cocktail Who
Is he, where did you hide your ace of interrogation?
What have you learnt about his own vision?
Did you expect to malfunction for long without your neurons?
Do you think that it is so easy to bind
A man who is too young for a heart-attack

To happen. Love is not the interrogation
of one’s neurons, he explains in the game of erotic vision
once you bind, knowing not the reason, the attack on your heart
will tell you I am the one accused of treason.

Cut the cord from left. terre. east. co

So the steps you shall follow are extremely simple. There is a cord on the desired object. You pull it it screams, you cut it it shut it shuts up. It is earth it is the left sign of life it is in the east and it is a brotherhood. My sisters know what I mean. Not every audience has to understand.

Today the desired object was in my mind during a crisis. The crisis included an underground confusion and I was transformed into a mouse-sardine of a tube world. He is always present in the big crowd only you cannot see him. But you must learn to recognize him. He will be your savior. However, he, unlike the elementary cases here in London does not have a cord. He is of Greek make. This make is an older model that cannot be stopped in any particular way. Therefore what can a woman do to save herself?

I leave the answer to him because the inhabitants of this country with Greek make have been turned into an abyss of non-decandence.Mad is not bad but cowards out there you have no hope.. charlie's angels are in the town. you little cords are think blue and white... not made from the old hard sailing rope...

beyond the silver moon in a wooden forest pool

I pretend not to wake up in my dream but in reality I wake up in a muffled breath. Someone was there asking : "Where are all of their belonginings?" A slide of fabric awoke me into a nightmare that was not real. Then, she falls into the sweet Morpheus' embrace and lands in a swimming pool in a bikini that keeps untying itself and a black-bearded man appears. She apologises for continuously tying the bikini laces she is shy. She knows this man from her past. He smiles his Marilyn Monroe teeth. She curves into a fetal position in the turquoise water. He asks her:" so have what have you found?" She informs him of her future possible plans but she does not feel she has enough time to explain. Wait. She thinks inside of her. Then he walks into disappearance.
She then walks up wooden bridges under streams of forests, the wood creaks. She is searching for him. But everywhere she goes she finds other friends of his but not him. She runs back to the main area where she met him and suddenly there appear many Italian- architecture windows of apartment buildings which seem to be lit by fog.
Then she goes the opposite way towards the deserted part of a forest. The others appear there too. But he is not there.
He went off somewhere.
She searches for a lighter as she walks with all of them in a line. She wakes up into disappearance.
He and She always communicate in the somewhere. We cannot know if he or she or both know that they do.

Lover of the Past

There is suddenly a blast ... ! The bubble once existed but now it just cannot last. The place of your origin has been forever lost and all you are left now is the nothing of the present the something of the future and the much of the past. Then you decide to chant chant to go against the little wave that breaks right at the edge of the pain-threshold but is it this chant produced by the very substance that you torments?
Is the very chant part of the success that is here and that makes you be here and hear the sounds that other passenger just can't? Is it your fault that passengers are idealized and rushed to the stage when their exams have not been passed or forwarded to them at least? The expectation for it to crumble and fall when it is great and majestic must be the haunting secret of your success. Has the demon taken over you and all you can think is how to muse them into your smile amuse them for a little while and then abuse the small signs on their face to make them not last against the enduring threat-thoughts of your past?
If the question mark dears to breathe then the exclamation drowns in the water like a fish born with lungs .. it is not made to breathe as such... and that is what my writing is made of... The great rises and falls of life.. Zoe as called in Greek...
Remember my reader there is always that phenomenon called TiDE.
But the miracle of the place where nothing comes and nothing goes must be something not to be desired for where is the fun or the hygiene... in that?

post scriptum

All is to be admired and loved in life... how commonplace and yet the lines from this song fit the occasion of today's post: "Flames to dust, lovers to friends, why do all good things come to an end?"

Out of the blue the land of arcadia

Out of the blue there appears a land... Inhabiting the ocean suddenly is put under doubt... and under a cloud you wake up. There is a vision, there is a wish and there is a material side to it witnessing the possiblity of reality. The abstract thoughts render themselves into the most wonderful moment of present. You care for words but preciseness of the product is not worth positively to be posited in some certain category. Because it is there where you want it and you do not want it to go away because it has done so in the past and the excitement and the whiteness of art deco floods the air and the cold is loved to be cold and the warm comfort is forgotten and slides by like a whole millisecond down the margin of four hours.
There appears a question mark but this time you shall consider it normal and proper to the way life bumps. Give it a timeline and when the breath of art-deco expires you shall know.
This time you are aware that eyes not seen are missed the most. But you are afraid not. You have been down this road before.

Something like VOODOO

The sweat is lavitating on your skin, fresh and cold at the same time. The step is quick and exhaustingly excited like the beat. It feels like you have just come out of the gym. The dose of endormorphin pumps inside your arteries as heartlessly as it cannot.
This feeling you cannot name but you can deny not. You tread through the rain and although sun is there to be seen it feels like some great miracle. You wonder what is happening with your tornado of your hair. When you return there is one stare of yours wet-stamped on a surprised mirror. And then you come to wonder where did the beauty come from? Did some evil wind call for it while you were dance-struggling through drops of water and frizzy traffic?
The more stabbs you receive on the fabric of your recently tanned body of a doll it seems the more you think it is everyday life to be moved by some out-of-country force. It is definately not of out of this planet. It is unaware of its power and yet it slides within you despite your layers of clothes.
Give me another stab because it feels so great to be hurt.My fabric of dress is not ordinary. And of course I am addressing myself.

unless you absolutely leave dont complain about the parasites when you return...

Parasites on a forgotten summer text remind one that nothing left by itself can grow when it does not have a heart. Travelling in symbols and islands rather twists one's view. Like one used to stretch to the edge of the world, then stopped and out of shape now the edge of the world becomes halfway of how far one can stretch. Conversely then, once you leave something for a while with a heart with its pathos it will grow. With no attention, it will not wither but rather speak silently. When you ask it will speak and tell you the story let us recapitulate. How far behind are you with the news update?
Life is worth lived sometimes for the sake of telling the story and I know that does not sound remotely everyday normal. I visualize the scenes I have played and I paint them with what I have gained. Fantastic. I would not have been able to imagine what I cannot tell you. But you could. Some ideas include the following:
Animal-printed sheets are owned by men too. Call a man "Animal" he will love you and nothing more. It is very easy to have physically what you want, just pick it up. It will not say no because no parliaci solo facciami... I think that is the right Italian for the phrase..
Greece will not win the Basketball World Championship I predict. Here is a prediction summer holidays tell you that despite the romantic tours in the beach-bar swimming pool they cannot take you further than the island yes your sole companion will be Hawaian Tropic ( advertisement not intended) .
Here he is my Hawaian tropic next to me awaiting to be used when the sun comes out again for me. :D
Before the train of thought changed its mind I was going to say:
You can never absolutely negate so keep on positing and posing positively just where the wave breaks...
ps: forget the past but keep good count of your unpaid bills...

before you take my heart reconsider

One of my favorite stages of life comes up again. Charlotte Street stands ignorant or annoyed at me doing its usual passers-by, businessmen and Italians sipping the best Fitztrovia cappuccino under my window and I secretly planning an escape. It might no longer be a secret.
Take the leap of faith and the safety net will appear. It was the first time I leaned outside my window yesterday with no fear of falling down despite what my company and I had been up to. And the non-existing stars in the Bt tower adorned London pink grey ( multi adjective ) sky were there for me to imagine. Even though the stars and the starts were out of view I could still see them.
So now I am depressed out of happiness I guess. The excess has rejoiced enough in the mess and now we are travelling back into the less of nostalgic bless. Rhymes have rhymed enough or not enough but since these are all signs I can re-shape them back into the right sound.
Get right... this summer...I move you move I pack you unpack ...

ps: what you want want, dont get, get, dont want, want.

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...