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...

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...

my ajar door

The door is a jar. Can you imagine something flat containing the volume of a jar of marmelade? You just did. If you can imagine it, it must oh it does exist. And where you expect the happy ending of all of your imaginings you realize. You realize what has not been realized. Or do you?
Everything is fluid. And the abstractness is not something new. When there is distance eyes will be forgotten they say. Ha
Who are they to say?
The word "forget" is tricky like the thing that caused it to exist. You get the "for," the reason for which you wanted to get what cannot get now or you are getting to. And the abstractness continues. I am distracted today. Circles on me need ticking but I cannot do much but look for some other way to live in another country.
Love resides in me and in another country where it drinks late night cups of non-existence. Because if you cannot see it it does not existe. But if you can visualize it maybe it will or it does. Only time for the time being does not agree with it being synchronized according to my desire.
If you got what I mean for... then you cannot be what I should forget.
The door is ajar. The windows open on one side of it and on its other side have caused a draft and the explanation of ajar is as simple as that....

spring of death-birth

Have you looked at the ending of the words "death" and "birth"? Maybe this does not hold for all languages, but this arbitrary similarity of "th" may imply these two states have much in common: life: start and end. And "d" is the opposite sign of "b" and "ea" and "i" have the same pronounciation in the word: almost.
Where am I getting at? I am looking at the green tree across my window.. I left it two weeks ago with no leaves and back now charlotte street is green. The little leaves are only the beginning of a flourishing that is felth through the "Frou-frou" breeze entering through my window on the keys of my laptop.

It is the top of a lap I am ebracing tonight , the melancholy of death and the melancholy of life. A song which plays on and never dies and never lives :hope. Hope to hop to the summer, the heat and a true night of eternity.

How do you identify with all that? I know you do. You and I do not know why but we do . And the reason why we do, which we do not know, makes it worth breathing tonight and the rest of nights and days to come.
Nothing is unrequited and nothing is forever lost. We are all in the same company of misery and of lovelihood.

Smile at the man or woman or baby-girl or baby-boy that looks at you through the window of a bus. They smile back.

Happy Easter ..... Lucky Spring!

We are doing this for our children

An advice: sometimes it is better to ask for the moon and the stars. Look above and the shine will never let you look down, bedazzled entagled into the hair of the night the demons of a balcony inside of which you sleep into a hill of a forehead...
Sometimes it is better to ask for the moon and the stars because there is no because. Poison is beat with poison. Drink up before it is finished and then all you have left is milk,mildness and a mania you never indulged into.

But remember in this Easter, which tomorrow dies to give us our new birth again, put your mask on smile and do not think what happens when he, Eros or Thanatos, enters the door...

Without you realizing he will appear on the Right. He will greet you : Hello, countess, do you not greet me anymore?

pleasure, immortality of the soul and the phrygian slave..

And these are my contemplations...I chose to fly tomorrow who knows what landing awaits me... Every time it is different. It is abit like falling in love. You choose to go to another destination, hopefully one where you will enjoy yourself, then on the plane the food could be great or disgusting and you might not even care if it is either, you only care for that landing. You might have to pay extra because your ticket got lost in the post. And they will not re-issue you one. But you pay beccause you want to fly, you promised yourself you would. The extra luggage could be another problem. You might be charged or the extra weight you carry may be ignored, or you could be travelling lightly yet there is still that anxiety if if if.... You are also worried that you might miss the flight, you check the departure scree, you check if the taxi will be on time, if the train will too, if the the alarm will ring for you to wake up and get ready before that precious plane flies without you.. Additionally, there is the concern of who will be sitting next to you: someone who smells maybe, someone who is too arrogant, someone who chats you up and you do not want to be chatted up or someone who you want to chat you up but will not.
All of this then and more you worry about when you fly...to land
I have flown many times but I have fallen only once...
Once you fall you are so scared you might fall again and you are so scared you might not fall ever again...
It is all because flying is the safest means of trasport...
The pleasure is in that moment where you look at the alps or when you are lost too in the clouds and you begin to realize how high you are from earth... isnt this fun?
The immortality of the soul comes in and comes out as soon as you are between sky and earth and you wonder where is the limit...
The phrygian slave is your alter ego : you want your travel to be care-free...
I will take the leap of faith that this morning that I will be flying again towards my desired destination.
I am in love with Thessaloniki...

The remains signify the remains

Warning: the following text may contain words, feelings of concepts the reader might find offensive.


Listening to songs romantic: nobody does it better... than you reminding me of the unfullfilled romance... whatever the self I saw of myself those days a self I did not expect to ever reveal myself... You look at the external and you see nothing that would have attracted you then, you try look for the internal and you find it there but in a vaccum of nowhere... What do I mean by these abstractions? Abstract is you. It is the abstract that I fell for and then the abstract because of its nature could not hold me to breathe... So here we are back into the concrete I am sitting on the love-chair from IKEA ( advertisement not intended) into a red-brick London apartment building on a street where Businessmen smile at me so much I almost fall off the road and sometimes, like this morning I did! And the remains remain of a sketch but hey it was only a sketch and now let me get back to the drawing... the full body of this man that I now possess and I am not in love... because labels are just bullshit... and no I am not in a relationship but yes I am not single but I am with and I am without and I am double ... and it is all real because I never believed in it without seeing it first with my own eyes become true..
The advice of the day: no more suspension of disbelief into bullshit... just watch Basic instinct..

neck pain

So I was excited with my progress. My progress of understanding the different distances between the levels of a building. My comprehension levels reached ecstasy the last two days with rhetorics of costume "analogynaicozing" gender politics. You know what... psychosomatic is a dangerous word... that is what I am I think... I have overextended my antennas these two days and now all I am left is unbelievable neck pain, no speech and I am in no position to speak what I think... no combination no juxtaposition... and two dreams while Im struglling to swallow in my sleep:
Dream one: I cannot speak, there is no voice coming out of my mouth and I have to enter the other person's body in order to speak to them so I actually become them.
Dream two: I am speaking online with an old close enemy and love and I write LOL and he reads Love and asks me : Does the the rate decrease love?

He is invoked when I am in pain: what a pain in the neck he is...
I am happy i have reduced him just to that:)