Re0turning

Coo-
If you want to nest in the niche your song plays you have to learn not to want the rest. When everybody is not I shall be futuring my existence by quitting smoking.

Some Saturday ago I went off the road, it is true. An actual fact the policeman wrote down in the report.
I told him it was not my fault, something else pushed my Mini off on the grey bars of the cliff and someone danced my soul around before I pulled the hand break.

You see I might speed and might not drive when I should but I refuse to fall off a cliff.

And miracles do not happen anymore they say. We are all blind I say.

I danced with anger on the opposite side of the road and it so happened no car sped down that turn. Fusion and fuss of my broken wheel. She is lurking, not when I see a cigarette but when it is not there to tell me it is okay.

I had a minuscule white choke friend who-who smoked my fears away. I thought I would let it go

but then my mouth breaks down in inarticulate blazes of non-smoke.

You were born without it.He tells me. I hate being told more than quitting.

I was born without much. I inherited everything and the blurr of smoke tattooed itself on the aura of my existence.

Now, I am drowning the smoke in the Aegean sea of non-hope.

I gather my little fingers and shall draw my dreams of blue abroad.

Πουθενά

Εδώ δεν πρόκειται να επέλθει

η πυρά δεν κατασταλάζει πέρα
απο το θρόισμα των κυμάτων

Πέταξε μακριά η ελπίδα για αυτό
που δεν θα έπρεπε να γίνει

ευτυχώς ευτυχώς ο τοίχος στάθηκε μπροστά
και με κράτησε πίσω όπου ήσουν δίπλα μου

γελώντας με τους νικητές που γιόρταζαν τις ήττες
τους μιλώντας σε γλώσσα ξένη, για φέρετρα και απάτες

ξεχνώντας να θυμηθούν η δική τους τι τους λέει η ίδια η γλώσσα

Δεν πειράζει γιατί η αλήθεια μου δεν διστάζει να υπάρχει
στα σκοτεινά εκεί στην ανάμνηση που ανάβει
μόνο στην καρδιά που γνωρίζει να αναγνωρίζει

την απέραντη θάλασσα.

words come back

I realized my voice became a crystal Speaking to eyes
I was unpeeling an orange to emit its juice as if
the eyes would realize I was opening a window3
For them into a corridor, they started walking
a balance Of symbols they could use to lead them to
the breeze rocking your boat, float, caress your face

when scared to be alone on your boat do not .
What turns the secret sea into a crystal? My voice into
My heart becoming lost, its balance has a fortune that
can salt water and grow a fruit like an orange.
There is no going back when you walk into that corridor.
Especially when you stare at every window

which is closed. You have a window I told you
within you if only my boat you board
walk scary a corridor It is not that down
When you hold my crystal offers you my finger
dark blue Within me orange is it your touch ?
It is colour. You see the balance is loneliness needs its reason

Of colouring, when the balance is alone it has no colours
Out of which it can be a difference, what they are is a window
To being what they are distinct, together, many of them are orange
When they fall asleep in imagination they paint their boat
Carrying the psyche of their being a balance before it becomes a crystal
I wonder then where to one must walk when there is no corridor?

dark You imagine it. A long corridor is like a narrow pathway.
Only not. Close Hold me. Your balance will you have found
By the time you change the crystal of my coloured
human on the boat
It is just how words can fool you
when you do not look out of their window
If you do, you will find that this word
can be part of your story orange

make it orange though the time is up to you to make it
you do not need to walk down a corridor if you like
Fly instead without worrying about the boat
So long as you hover you will be in balance
pull the blinds and transfer my window
Look out, look out of the window, there is the crystal

Of my words on the boat painted orange
Like my own crystal shining down the corridor
Of your balance now look, look out of your window.

Λίγο πρίν

Η δύναμη εισ την Ν
αυτό που μερικές φορές
ονομάζομεν ζωή"

Την πάλεψα με ονομαζόμενον
άλλονν ννικητή

Σου είπα πως αυτός που νικά
τον λένε παρα-νομαστή;

Μέσα απο την σάπια
αρχαιωμένη βασιλικιά
φύτρωσαν φυλλώματα
λευκά--

Η αλήθεια ήταν αυτή και είναι
που με κυβερνά

Με μια ουσία καρκινική
με ένα καπνό που για μένα
αναπνέει "ζωή
Παρα- μιλώ

Παρα0κολουθώντας

μια θεά πάνω-Γραμμική

Το τρίτο γράμμα μου εις τον Θεό
το έχω αποστείλει εδώ και καιρό

Η επανάληψη Μαρτυρική--

Η αποκάλυψη του φεγγαρό -φωτός
παρελαύνει Ειδ-Ηλιακή--

Αλήθεψα το σ'αγαπώ,
το έσπασα σε ένα γραπτό
μετέλαβα το αυτό λεπτό

Τελειωμό δεν έχει το βουητό
της αθάνατης γραφής
το πιοτό.

Το μόνο σίγουρο είναι αυτό

Εγώ, εσύ στα έγκατα

του Σ'αγαπώ.

Υπάρχουμε

that picture of myself

Not all pictures are the same. Of oneself.
I look different this time. To you it might look the same.
The same as yesterday, the other day when you were not looking.

Then you take my picture and piss me off. I am pissed off because I love you deeply.

And the two of us me.meet. My picture and myself.

You piss me off because I love you.

I will not wash your dishes. I will wash up your soul.

You piss me off because you found that picture of myself

your eyes can only see.

Greek Friend-ship

Frienship is the one ship if you can handle

you will own the tempests and the sea-calm

if you can handle the ship will rock

the luggage and the waves

in many more than one ways than you will drown.


The salt-water makes you remember like tears do.

Your language of origin will show the colour of your skin.


She, born to swim, lays on the roughness of rocks

the fury of the deep blue Aegean chose to quarrel with them

for they eternally let themselves be eroded by remaining there.

Born by the wind, the rocks and the sea
the foam of the she,
I took a picture of myself

stray parvenu stay

Pride and humility, they are on the same page, on days of silence

they share, in the wooden library.


Greek slang meets French along with English way of speech

too many cooks in one head I have become swelled,

a parvenu, caught in my own gone spell



I have lost my touch and No I have felt not

because Humility tonight speaks in dis-drain,,

The Down of the wheel has led myself astray,,,

into a grande damme, a peacock, that wants to speak all the same:


"when you look at her she will not speak,

when you shall caress her soul then she sings"




I forgot that if you remember

that you forgot you do escape doomsday

with a bit of foolish rhyme and rocks to walk removed from my favorite bay

I jump on ghosts of souless sand and sea-spray...


Now remember what it was to be when it was a young day

Foolish and astray I mispell my present say

but now I shall believe the older and in the oldest day

where I my rock removed from sea to stop the wave.

wading in limen in wonder

You are alone. Some times.

ANd yet not. There is you. Me.

I am telling you that what matters is not that you are.

What matters is the times you wake up from the dream you are not.

But you are not. And are. And I. I am a fake or a true force within you

that tells you what you want. And what you want changes with seconds

and you want you back and you never return the same second as the previous one back.


And that which you love shines it is your little game, not a consolation, a game that you know how to play very well with words, and you shall juggle them

into the right mode of lonely less

there is love beyond language and there is no word for it

and for that reason alone you may me smile.

I am afraid of speed Take two (Experiment)

The road is empty. We get back on the main. I did not notice.
Road after taking the wrong turn. the breath of on my face.

You press the gas.rooftop sky.
Found on the end of the road I was looking at 10 seconds ago.
the fear we would always die.

Stop. I am tired. sidewalk.
In that case we may return. I did not notice the faces that will notice me.

I do not want to return. In a hole.
I still want to go. I can't take speed. In a whole in you.

I never was one to lose control. you not being there at all.
I never was one to let things out of my hands, a crack in the wall
except when it was not up to my hands.

I want it slow because it goes so fast. the fire still burning down on me.
I want it fast only when I have had too much to drink. a hole in you.
I want it fast when there is no one else. not real, not true, not me, not you

Yet I want the control, I want to win when I lose when I look it is all I see

and I want to adore, adore Life.

Love of scratch (Take 1)

To love the scratch means to love the freedom of blank.

To come to the end and start again to me it means so much.

So much as the sound of the next word that will come to my fingertips uninvited

so much as the vowels and consonants kiss each other when I tell them to.


It is my passion, I forget it and leave it and it haunts me back again

it is a lover I cannot escape and a lover that makes everything terrestrial to forsake...


The passion of people meeting with each other and their sounds and meanings making a new meaning like these very words hanging out tonight on a white screen of black symbols.

The meeting after a long time becomes even more passionate and lustful

and I give you a stupid stupid metaphor to describe the noesis that

some of us desire to experience as we travel,
travel,
travel and long
to see further than this horizon...

utter

To utter,

You are in a room. You live with the objects of the room. You take it for granted that the objects of the room are supposed to be in the room. Like you take for granted of a metaphor.

Because we are supposed to know what transfer means.To transfer the meaning onto something else that looks like it in a simpler or untold (of) way. You take it for granted because it is there in language and thus it has been said. But it has not.

And so I choose, in an afternoon when I do not remember whether I have slept really or not,or spend the night with eyes closed without escaping to a world of unsconsiousness to consciously get out of the room.

I hover over it. And look at the objects that are alike and those are supposed not to exist or to exist because we demand that they do. I quiver at loss and am enthuzed by birth. I hover over. Over the room and over sleep.

I utter simple words in search of utter...pleasure or achievement.

Whether pleasure in achievement or achievement in my pleasure I figured it does not really matter, so long as I am blessed to hover over ...

and that allows me to relish in the utter...

an adjetive that may fit everything...

when you cannot see your heart

Haha...No...Let not go...To lose it means you played.

The play YOU choose. hey and the outcome, too, NO, Two.

The words are small tonight, the words are tiny. The heart is shrunk,

the heart forgets, No, the brain does, the heart hurts.

It hurts it hurts to speak to be for being means the heart in pain is reality.

Believe the brain you shall forsake disdain then you must sell your soul

to another Play, and the words shall come closer to console

but you must lose for momentary loss shall be your saviour

to believe the Heart

and when you cannot see your heart tells your brain what to show your eyes...

i party you business love party you

I love you, you love me and life is true in no need of similie.

and what about bread, and what about the bare necessity?

it all is born through two parties spilling wine on wintered skin.

Give me business, give me meaning for I love and have the will to live.

The glass door closes but my friend and I do know we may break from words

that linger in minutes that burn with no necessity.

because we love, because we fly because we know that in our hearts we have

that sigh

that sigh of love, that sigh of work, that sigh of bye

we have no reservation with the word "fuck off"..

but we speak kind though we speak true and yet we manage to lie in truth

because we lay in calls prolonged or contracts that could never have been signed off

but still we love, and yes we love, each other, those two men and the world too,

believe we do...

maybe we will party, maybe we will do business

surely we shall fly... we have been flying

this year much higher is what we are trying..

sex inscribed on body

They . are all habits. We learn to do. Do we learn to love or pretend to know love?

We learn to show the love. The smile, the happiness like a pill swallowed which has fulfilled its purpose.

Funny. What seemed like the fairy.. tale was stupid and cemented, for me not. And what seemed untrue- unreal -undrinkable, unedible is the piece that completes my puzzle.

Yes. The princess is never a happy one in fact. She marries a prince, the one who is meant for her. Those unions of no meaning to those who impose them are those which mean love to me.

That picture or that outing to show we are good and this is how the story is good.Who cares I ask? Most people actually do. Whether yes or no, the truth is anyhow, my world, you.

The beat, the door, has opened in my you, and I
feel apple, feel open to exude you and against
all cracks of uncertainty of hollywood dew.

flex, breathe, flex breathe
and nurture that nature


of love.

The word I am choosing is heterology

Heterology,

When one woman does not correspond to the bag of the other, rather, the beige and brown square pattern of her brain.

When one man chooses silicone roundness over feeling well in one's skin even if it is another's.

The joy is too good, the joy is too bad when you relish in knowing what others do not.

Different origins may be the explanation but what if we had the chance to meet at a point?

The rivers run, the rivers meet, the rivers leave, the rivers carry.

To love in true colours generally is good sometimes too blurry for those purposes of what we call " the material life."

And let those who cannot write write, and let those who should not show her face show.

And hide the beauty in places that protect it. and show it because there are some who can still and will see it.

the words, stupid, will burn with the laptop in some centuries, the papers will wither in dust but the DNA-smart... will keep on going ..keep on loving truly for ever and ever.

fireworks in where?

Fire works in an unexpected way... flames up where you thought sea breezes would dance...

A horoscope is all to blame.. the way your scope counts back time..look back and you shall turn to stone...

and then on a foggy day you may see down the road of your windscreen the full times you have lived and did not know they would later come back to love you...

when the sky is clear it is too clear to see the love of clear...

but fog always brings love, love for what you cannot have ... for what you had and what you have always..love..

fireworks in my heart...

they blame a fat valve for my fast heartbeat. I never knew I was a multi-valve BMW of heart...
It turns out I am a sport Turbo Nitro multi-valve quite a lot of horses heart..

catch me if you can... my heart is unbeatable because it beats so fast and there is a little pill we call in Greek "hapi" a pink pill in fact that slows it down...

but too much of it... I was warned may stop it forever...

so let us have little by little.. because when it all of its power affects those neurons of heart... the heart stops....

hopefully by then I will have left another heart to beat as fast for me and the world...

love lives in your navel

Glad like a Grand ball to be first danced.

Laughed like the trickle of water that wets you there where you do not expect!

Walked miles and miles far away from home and did what was not done before in that same old cemented road of gloom.

stripped of nakedness up metal stairs running for our lives escaping our death

trembled like when it was cut that cord which you think that you cannot live without.

Returned from what was cut and after years it does not hurt anymore.

The navel that connects you to life. The navel destined to cut your habit of first water breaths.

Cut but it does not hurt anymore, the navel of earth has shifted center of heart...

The navel that now is tickled only by your heart. The navel that does not hurt anymore.

Because I have learnt to breathe. Because I have learnt to live outside the womb that left me alone.

Because I have cut the cord of surviving on my own.

when you 're playing with desire you can easily get on my fire...

I have never been amazed about how a song can actually inspire you.

Because it can, because words can, because love happens, because chords inside get struck.

I have been amazed about how people may affect a chord inside you and cause you the most negative energy. They have such an effect that they change your syntax from impersonal to personal. But there is always a catch in the catch that you throw to trap others.

too too soon... it is not all that.... because that is what writing is about... put the other across your screen... through your screen... the certainty that the energized power within me is dangling out is ha... certain

You have a choice... you can either "get stupid" and do what that one tells you you should do to get the money.. the carrot has been thrown and will you catch?

The time to throw the carrot for that one who tells others what to do... has come...

It will be hard, it will be devastating but if we are afraid now what good is it to live and not feel...you might as well be dead...

So throw your own carrot to your own dictator...

Dictating used to be fun... let us make it again what it used to be...

ours...

Can you I be really unstoppable?

Physically yes, visualization stops, dance vibration is non-visible to the human eye.

Internally,

whether in the soul depends on the weather of the soul. Do you have antennas that are genetically programmed to receive every single stimulation? If you are asked to cut and you cut can you forget you once parted with something?

whether in the beats of the heart that tells you it is working overtime every morning your foot presses on the gas screaming the emergency silently in your eyes on the road the emergency to be there to smile and say Goodmorning ( smile) let us try again to pretend we like what we do and of course we are here to help.... such a delightful job... who would be in it for the money?

whether in the O2 breathed in and out when you sit down on your office chair breathe the smoke burn some lung cells and drink the coffe of non-existence.

whether in the electrodes of the grey matter you were blessed with, now who can we find who can be convinced that they need help?

Or rather the question is who can I make think that they need me?


I am not unstoppable...you can stop me for a second and make me wonder.. .

Now after I have wondered....I have decided to take off from that plannet of BOTHER: "GET STUPID GET STUPID DONT STOP"

You can only be unstoppable in a world of WONDER>

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.