a wall has two sides

Really? What a revelation you will think. A wall has two sides? Oh yes. And my ceiling has me under it and my neighbours above who after midnight decide to kick things which sound like small balls and draw the drawers and bang them back and I am not going to dignify the OTHER SOUNDS too... I either decide to decipher the sounds, or mute them with my thoughts. In my renting case I would not be able to break that wall down or I would not want to anyway... And maybe this wall that I have between me and another person I need to bring down but may be I really do not... There would be no sound muffling, the sounds would acquire shape and touch and my nightmare would aggravate. I woke up to the dream that I was being kissed by an ice-man: he was a man but covered with ice. I was trying to get away from him and then he decided to melt and tell me his experiences from the ocean. He had kissed many fishes he told me: even prawns.
So when the ice-man approaches you, do you ignore him or do you try to melt him? Honesty should always be your guide, I have been raised to believe. But really can you tell him "you are an ice-man and I would be too cold with you touching my lips?" Is this not discrimination? Surely, there must be a match for him like everyone has one in this world.
I would rather there was no wall and I would rather I was not the ice-woman.
The man in question in answer in reality tells me he hopes he was not the ice-man.. in my dream..

the nights of wind on Charlotte Street

Sometimes the wind blows. Funny how something that you cannot see moves you and others around you. I mean it moves birthday cards to fall down, to begin with, moves the fan on the windows of my apartment, trying to enter with great effort and somewhere in the cracks he manages. And when I am holding the umbrella outside and my hair becomes a tornado somehow I feel frustrated because of this unmoved mover. That is the name (unmoved mover) Aristotle used for God. Then is it God that is blowing thoughts or memories in my head? Is it God who is thrusting all the objects of my apartment down and I run behind clothes and posters to keep everything in place? But it must be myself who is causing the wind to crack in, it must be the cracks that I myself forgot to seal or the cracks somebody else did not care to seal before he left? Was that God? Or is it somebody else? A some body who is not even aware that this somebody is in my thoughts or memories. But if thoughts and memories are electric stimulations then positive and negative energy charges or loads must affect that some body else's electric stimulations. Even if the stimulus is too far away for the some body to know, tonight he feels the wind on Charlotte Street and he is wondering what is causing this electrical stimulation. Is it an unmoved mover? No, it is definately me and because he does not know it is me, he thinks of me as unmoved by wind or him.

Handle your Dead line

I drink some water. Love will not save you.

I am directing a special day ritual tonight.

Let’s begin with the heart.

Fall out with vitamins. Do not re-charge.

Now tear it out.

Hold on. For a second. Hold on to what?

You have just torn your only handle.

You have made the wrong start again.

It is not the heart that one starts. With

Right. Have some water. Ready? Pull them out.

The eyes. Round lubricated hazel eyes.

Does the world sound blinder or blacker tonight?

This is the funniest walk ever! All is bloody red.

Bloody Red and a Cuba Libre for me please.

Please. What is there to please? A lingering

Of –f hands. French man-i-cure nails.

Forget man-i-cure. Cut off hands. That will,

that will save you off the money spent.

Smile you are so alone.

Smile you won’t be smiling for long.

Remove your mouth.

Hush: Now Heart, blender it all up.

Cleopatra and Anthony

The sun shines today. London is cold but sunny. Charlotte Street breezes awaiting the summer... And I await the summer too. I do not think I have met anyone ever who hates summer. My favorite season is the summer. The best things have hapenned to me during summers. My summers always seem to last too. Summertime feels like finishing an essay and handing it in and then sitting down loose and uncontrolled and unrestrained and releasing all the knowledge and the memories of the winter and spring that pained you to grow. But now you can let it all burn... In the summer... Why let it grow anyway? What survives in the summer, survives the winter for what survives heat can keep its supply for the winter.... but now its spring... so let us have the April showers, and the Gemini of May and then give me the summer that I long for so much... An8os of my 8elisis niki... Do not cry for the soil but await the flower of the summer is my advice...

What in the world am I talking about? But of course... about the summer... you know the season? seasoning?

Did the compressor compress me or did I compress myself?

Where is the link? My ears hear the noise. The disturbance of this noise where can you locate it? Is it because it is an unnatural noise coming from a machine? Was not this unnatural noise made from a natural human being?The machine is drawing-drilling a line on a digged up hole on the road and I cannot wait for it to be over. The noise is interrupting other noises that I am used to.. the sound of cars, of whatnot, of the wind slithering through the plastic fans of the windows in the apartment... and everything ouf of habit is missed and when it is there it is not even noticed.And I am wondering where is this awareness that makes us enjoy what we have and feel not melancholy for the past that we miss? Has it been lost with the first taste of pleasure? From that first bite of apple ? Pleasure was acquired and our awareness to love it and have it and live it then out of habit after has grown, grown up...

synexeia enos australezikou oneirou ...

Cleopatra here, Mata Hari in Bristol... says:
its officially published
Cleopatra here, Mata Hari in Bristol... says:
in my blog
Cleopatra here, Mata Hari in Bristol... says:
check it out
Mata Hari here, Cleopatra in London says:
ok!
Cleopatra here, Mata Hari in Bristol... says:
ax den mou bgainei
Cleopatra here, Mata Hari in Bristol... says:
enw leei oti einai published
Mata Hari here, Cleopatra in London says:
ena lepto na to elekso
Cleopatra here, Mata Hari in Bristol... says:
bgike
Mata Hari here, Cleopatra in London says:
emena mou kanei boicotage to pc
Cleopatra here, Mata Hari in Bristol... says:

Cleopatra here, Mata Hari in Bristol... says:
afou den eisai boskos
Cleopatra here, Mata Hari in Bristol... says:
den eisaimeros tou lcub
Cleopatra here, Mata Hari in Bristol... says:
club
Cleopatra here, Mata Hari in Bristol... says:
mono oi boskoi
Cleopatra here, Mata Hari in Bristol... says:
pane sto steam room
Cleopatra here, Mata Hari in Bristol... says:

Cleopatra here, Mata Hari in Bristol... says:
eseis oi tragoudopoioi den exete to privilige
Mata Hari here, Cleopatra in London says:
class discrimination to leme ayto?
Mata Hari here, Cleopatra in London says:
epeidi dilada emeis oi tragoudopoioi kolovarame oli mera simenei pos den mporoume na kanoume kati xrisimo?
Cleopatra here, Mata Hari in Bristol... says:
den kserw how you call it
Mata Hari here, Cleopatra in London says:

Cleopatra here, Mata Hari in Bristol... says:
emeis sto ostralia
Cleopatra here, Mata Hari in Bristol... says:
we call it nature's law
Cleopatra here, Mata Hari in Bristol... says:
ma ti lew
Cleopatra here, Mata Hari in Bristol... says:
eseis i tragoudopoiei den kserete apo nomous
Cleopatra here, Mata Hari in Bristol... says:
kai tetoia
Mata Hari here, Cleopatra in London says:
ego omos ipostirizo positive law kai leo dikaioume!
Cleopatra here, Mata Hari in Bristol... says:
eiste anomoi
Cleopatra here, Mata Hari in Bristol... says:
anr8wpoi
Mata Hari here, Cleopatra in London says:
anomoi, anoitoi ki anerastoi...
Mata Hari here, Cleopatra in London says:
leo ayti ti sizitisi na tin valo ego sto diko mou blog
Cleopatra here, Mata Hari in Bristol... says:
em kai anerastoi koriiiiiii
Cleopatra here, Mata Hari in Bristol... says:
na tin ebaleis wre
Cleopatra here, Mata Hari in Bristol... says:
anerastoi
Cleopatra here, Mata Hari in Bristol... says:
akou ekei
Cleopatra here, Mata Hari in Bristol... says:
ti einai touto pali
Mata Hari here, Cleopatra in London says:
how do u know?
Cleopatra here, Mata Hari in Bristol... says:
how do I know
Cleopatra here, Mata Hari in Bristol... says:
egw kserw mono
Cleopatra here, Mata Hari in Bristol... says:
oti ta kalytera poimenika
Cleopatra here, Mata Hari in Bristol... says:
skylia
Cleopatra here, Mata Hari in Bristol... says:
poimenika
Cleopatra here, Mata Hari in Bristol... says:
tragoudakia
Cleopatra here, Mata Hari in Bristol... says:
bgikan
Cleopatra here, Mata Hari in Bristol... says:
apo anerastous erastes
Cleopatra here, Mata Hari in Bristol... says:
pou briskontan
Cleopatra here, Mata Hari in Bristol... says:
pisw apo to 8amnaki
Cleopatra here, Mata Hari in Bristol... says:
dipla to probato
Cleopatra here, Mata Hari in Bristol... says:
kai twra prepei na me kaneis xrated
Cleopatra here, Mata Hari in Bristol... says:
kai belazan
Mata Hari here, Cleopatra in London says:
ki ego ksero pos ta kalitera poimenika tragoudia apo tous tragoudopoious dimiourgithikan
Cleopatra here, Mata Hari in Bristol... says:
stin melwdia tis kataprasinis fysis
Mata Hari here, Cleopatra in London says:

Cleopatra here, Mata Hari in Bristol... says:
kai apo pou nomizeis
Cleopatra here, Mata Hari in Bristol... says:
piran tin ebneysi tous oi tragoudopoioi
Cleopatra here, Mata Hari in Bristol... says:
apo to mati pou pernan apo emas
Cleopatra here, Mata Hari in Bristol... says:
tou ftwxous australezous boskous
Cleopatra here, Mata Hari in Bristol... says:
pou bgazame to pswmi mas kai to gala kai to tyri mas
Cleopatra here, Mata Hari in Bristol... says:
ka8ws
Cleopatra here, Mata Hari in Bristol... says:
xynotan
Cleopatra here, Mata Hari in Bristol... says:
ahem
Cleopatra here, Mata Hari in Bristol... says:
o idrwtas
Cleopatra here, Mata Hari in Bristol... says:
mas
Cleopatra here, Mata Hari in Bristol... says:
sto xwma mia gis
Cleopatra here, Mata Hari in Bristol... says:
pou 8a oneireyomoun to 2006

Discussions meta apo ek8eseis...

Cleopatra here, Mata Hari in Bristol... says:
ti arxisame pali
Cleopatra here, Mata Hari in Bristol... says:
denmporw na arni8w tin australeziki katagwgi mou omws
Mata Hari here, Cleopatra in London says:
simfona me stereotypes tho, u also need a family background
Cleopatra here, Mata Hari in Bristol... says:
eimai enas sheppard
Mata Hari here, Cleopatra in London says:

Mata Hari here, Cleopatra in London says:
ego ti imouna?
Cleopatra here, Mata Hari in Bristol... says:
esy isoun tragoudopoios nomizw
Mata Hari here, Cleopatra in London says:

Mata Hari here, Cleopatra in London says:
gi ayto s ayti tin zoi eimai parafoni? its all about balance!
Cleopatra here, Mata Hari in Bristol... says:
http://www.awfulplasticsurgery.com/
Mata Hari here, Cleopatra in London says:
thimase to website?
Cleopatra here, Mata Hari in Bristol... says:
pigaine se auto
Cleopatra here, Mata Hari in Bristol... says:
giauto se autin tin zwi den mporw na
Cleopatra here, Mata Hari in Bristol... says:

Cleopatra here, Mata Hari in Bristol... says:
kratisw probata
Mata Hari here, Cleopatra in London says:

Cleopatra here, Mata Hari in Bristol... says:
kateba na deis tin diafora me tin ka8rin zeta jones an piges sto website pou sou esteila
Mata Hari here, Cleopatra in London says:
na se do na voskeis provata kai na apaggeleis ta poiimata sou kai tha pethano sto gelio
Mata Hari here, Cleopatra in London says:
nai, aytin vlepo tora
Cleopatra here, Mata Hari in Bristol... says:

Mata Hari here, Cleopatra in London says:
ena lepto
Cleopatra here, Mata Hari in Bristol... says:
ha
Cleopatra here, Mata Hari in Bristol... says:
teleio auto pou eipes
Cleopatra here, Mata Hari in Bristol... says:
na belazei ena probato i na min belazei
Cleopatra here, Mata Hari in Bristol... says:
na byzaskei ena probataki i na min byzaskei apo tin probatina
Cleopatra here, Mata Hari in Bristol... says:
na faei to xortaraki i na masoulisei nostalgika
Mata Hari here, Cleopatra in London says:

Mata Hari here, Cleopatra in London says:
poios shakespear tora! na voskeis i na min voskeis einai i erotisi!
Cleopatra here, Mata Hari in Bristol... says:
in todays anorexic society it is
Cleopatra here, Mata Hari in Bristol... says:
eides poso contemporary
Cleopatra here, Mata Hari in Bristol... says:
einai i australeza
Cleopatra here, Mata Hari in Bristol... says:
boskopoet fili sou
Cleopatra here, Mata Hari in Bristol... says:

Mata Hari here, Cleopatra in London says:

Mata Hari here, Cleopatra in London says:
exo trellathei sto gelio!
Mata Hari here, Cleopatra in London says:
a re Zoelin, exeis empneyseis apopse!
Cleopatra here, Mata Hari in Bristol... says:
bosko poet
Cleopatra here, Mata Hari in Bristol... says:
pou me potizei
Cleopatra here, Mata Hari in Bristol... says:
brousko
Cleopatra here, Mata Hari in Bristol... says:
krasi
Cleopatra here, Mata Hari in Bristol... says:
o antras mou
Mata Hari here, Cleopatra in London says:

Cleopatra here, Mata Hari in Bristol... says:
apo to xwriou tou bolou
Mata Hari here, Cleopatra in London says:
ayto prepei na to grasoume!
Cleopatra here, Mata Hari in Bristol... says:
ekei na wras glentoboskimata pou kanoume
Mata Hari here, Cleopatra in London says:
giati den to vazeis sto blog sou?

The Compressor of London

The streets empty on Saturdays and Sundays on Charlotte Street. Today I woke up, around 8 it must have been, a Saturday not predicting the sun which would wake up a bit later, with the beautiful noise of the city: some road-work under my window. My street, you see, is ever so busy during weekdays it cannot afford any beauty work to be done during its zebra-crossing schedule orange lights flashing passers by running, morning coffee travelling on the polluted supposedly air.. but the air does not smell here... The air smells of nothing.. smells of what you make of it... and why I am still here ? Why is my mood so accepting to the morning annoyance which ruined my beauty sleep, the sleep I look forward to so much during the week?
Can I call London a garden? Will all these people who do not like it let me do so? Do I need a permission? We are all here who live here growing under the wing of the London wind, Fitzrovia sun cracks through corners of streets of motorbikers with the leather jackets smiling at you making your day, businessmen in their black suits buying their lunch and staring at the flowers by the cash tills... Oh and the underground.. that some people find claustrophobic... I consider it a ten to fifteen minute group therapy.. all of us there sitting together, enclosed with no escape from each other's glances,,, working up our imagination to discover what stop that black girl rapping will get off and where this bold black-glassed man will fly to reading his book about Barcelona.... London
you might call it impersonal... you could easily... but you know why? because we are all each other's person... we do not know... we might not speak to each other .... but we are all together.... moi from Greece.... another is from France... another is English another is my flatmate from Bahrain... we are all growing here.. flourishing in the climate of England isnt that miraculous?
Have you seen a more exotic garden?
I am watered and water it every day...

Rights of Passage

Its another morning on Charlotte Street when the blue door of the red-brick building bangs closed and I am out cold on the pavement dropping the tesco bag garbage and walking to the zebra-crossing while observing the next door neighbours-workers taking the first smoke of the day. They too observe and know me and do not know me. I check both sides of the road at the zebra crossing and walk the fragile passage of the road where vehicles of all types: taxis, bt tracks, motor-bikes etc stop only for me. Sometimes they smile at you too, depends whether you are in a good mood or not.
Do we really have vision of the zebra-crossing? Or do we cross and not know the cars are running over us?

return of time

I laughed it was the day I cried
I thought.

The “I” took over my throat
The white pages had written
That day was the day I got Lost.

Post-traumatic of an “x” persistence
I had not, I thought.

The day last year you (comes in) and
The day you came out

Of a virgin
which had previously
Broken not.

Hymen-wise still intact, silent
Weaving by the fire of her private spot

The threads unraveled but the machine had not broke.
The pneuma took its break while silence on the line

Of your mouth was about to slant
And speak of something I thought existed not

The pneuma took its break thought and thought
Ruptured into the wood of the machine

Which had stopped.
Weave weave silent and by night if you do not
Unweave he will help you out.

You, shred the blanket I covered myself with
The one I weaved with so much thought
I had not spoke

You I made: you, shred with your consent
And I am just
Cold.

For you: non-sense.

Now I hear the screams of the drunken people leaving Jamie's bar across my apartment. They are complaining about something that they could not afford during the day in their tight-ironed suits at the office: their complaints are mute, they make no sense, do not articulate mumbled by this substance called alcohol. The more you push it down the more non-sensical it will emerge. Out of non-sense comes the sense I hear a young couple now fighting. One is on one pavement side of the road, the other on the other: "Please dont leave me in the shadow of this street" he screams. She answers: "Everything I did was for you. Everything you did was for you. "
And this is my first post on this blog. Have you ever been to a steam room?