thick and thin
sick and sin
think and sink
Δως μου κάτι σταθερό, "..κάτι αληθινό"
κάτι σταθερό που ν' αντέχει στο χρόνο
στον πόνο, στη λύπη, στη χαρά.
κάτι που να μην το σταματάει τίποτα
να μην το κλέβει, να μη χάνεται
δικό μου, παντοτινό.
δως μου κάτι χρήσιμο να στηρίξω πάνω του
το βάρος μου, τα όνειρα μου
δως μου κάτι παλιό και καινούριο,
να μη μ'αφήνει ποτέ μόνη, νά'χω πάντα
παρέα
δως μου κάτι που ν'αντέχει στον πόνο, στα χτυπήματα
δώς μου κάτι δυνατό
δως μου μια παντοτινή εποχή όπου και όταν όλα συμβαίνουν, μέσα
σ' έναν κύκλο.
δως μου μια μέρα που συναντιούνται
όλες οι εποχές
και το φεγγάρι γεμίζει κι αδειάζει τις φάσεις του
δως μου κάτι για νά' ναι δικό μου
κάτι να το κρατήσω
δως μου κάτι που δε θα ζητήσεις πίσω.
19/06/2009
04/06/2009
wondering as ever
when we choose a part, we must be sure that we can play it to the end; our hero is unique; with special features, a certain attitude..towards life, towards people. we put that character forth? can we handle it?
choosing to leave behind your weaknesses, your wants for security, requires a certain level of awareness. to be aware of who you are, what cards you're playing with, what cards your opponents are holding; or indifference.
full dedication to the experiment.
leave one part of your emotions behind; leave all of them behind.
fear to feel, fear to show that you feel. fear becomes a feeling itself; fear to show fear.
you chose a strong character; someone who's more than you are. someone who shows it less.
be then;
be that.
be the person(a) you chose to be. the world is a scene, no?
the scene of a crime; against the potential. against infinite possibility.
yes, put yourself in a shell. make a good dwelling out of it, though..
support your fantasy, adorn it, paint it and make it beautiful; take it out and show it around; laugh and smile at the compliments.
be , feel it, play it.
walk in that shoes, walk and feel them yours.
are you strong enough? can you deal with rejection? can you deal with easy? undemanding? how undemanding have you become?
what did I set forth?
I need love. I need love. I need love. tired of feeling like dry land.
water me life. water me with love. this is my time. this is my time to take.
no can give no more.
greedy
have I become? no, balance; take before you don't even have enough for yourself.
summer; like a winter. inside, kept hidden..
needs and desires; I don't need needs, I don't crave for desires. passions.
the dreams are coming true; only when it's too late.
out-of-law feelings. solitude. how can sharing take place?
bubbles bubbles bubbles everywhere..
-hey, I opened mine! why don't you too and play in equal terms?
-equal terms? what is that? hahahaha
-give and take. is that too much?
-well, in this world of bubbles, it's almosr a sin. I think there's also a law against it.
-against what? give and take?
-yes, they check you, and if they find balance between the two,they punish you with excessive supply of one of the two.which is pretty much the same in that quantities.
are you creating a monster? against your will? without your knowledge?
teach? who can you teach? what do you know? what are you sure of? what's stable in you?
I can't even see you, spinning and whirling endlessly. if you just stayed still for just one moment, then I would be able to see what you keep in your center, feel your essence, feel you're mine. and that I'm yours. and that we're one. but you're spinning and whirling endlessly, and I cannot see you, I cannot touch you; and I don't know who you are. and I'm afraid you don't know who am I.
give me a ride inside your mind, and I will pay you back with one in mine.
care to take it?
no, don't answer that. I don't want to know. if you want, I am too fragile, too weird for your eyes. if you don't, I'm too fragile, and too weird for your eyes. strange to touch, to feel , to know. unexplored land. will you leave your flag here?
haven't left mine yet. senseless and numb. un aware. self less. shell confined.
divided to my core, to my basics. how can I handle? how can I handle?
abuse and observe. make basics an adventure. sustain myself successfully. live.
and don't think too much..cause it fucks it all up.
choosing to leave behind your weaknesses, your wants for security, requires a certain level of awareness. to be aware of who you are, what cards you're playing with, what cards your opponents are holding; or indifference.
full dedication to the experiment.
leave one part of your emotions behind; leave all of them behind.
fear to feel, fear to show that you feel. fear becomes a feeling itself; fear to show fear.
you chose a strong character; someone who's more than you are. someone who shows it less.
be then;
be that.
be the person(a) you chose to be. the world is a scene, no?
the scene of a crime; against the potential. against infinite possibility.
yes, put yourself in a shell. make a good dwelling out of it, though..
support your fantasy, adorn it, paint it and make it beautiful; take it out and show it around; laugh and smile at the compliments.
be , feel it, play it.
walk in that shoes, walk and feel them yours.
are you strong enough? can you deal with rejection? can you deal with easy? undemanding? how undemanding have you become?
what did I set forth?
I need love. I need love. I need love. tired of feeling like dry land.
water me life. water me with love. this is my time. this is my time to take.
no can give no more.
greedy
have I become? no, balance; take before you don't even have enough for yourself.
summer; like a winter. inside, kept hidden..
needs and desires; I don't need needs, I don't crave for desires. passions.
the dreams are coming true; only when it's too late.
out-of-law feelings. solitude. how can sharing take place?
bubbles bubbles bubbles everywhere..
-hey, I opened mine! why don't you too and play in equal terms?
-equal terms? what is that? hahahaha
-give and take. is that too much?
-well, in this world of bubbles, it's almosr a sin. I think there's also a law against it.
-against what? give and take?
-yes, they check you, and if they find balance between the two,they punish you with excessive supply of one of the two.which is pretty much the same in that quantities.
are you creating a monster? against your will? without your knowledge?
teach? who can you teach? what do you know? what are you sure of? what's stable in you?
I can't even see you, spinning and whirling endlessly. if you just stayed still for just one moment, then I would be able to see what you keep in your center, feel your essence, feel you're mine. and that I'm yours. and that we're one. but you're spinning and whirling endlessly, and I cannot see you, I cannot touch you; and I don't know who you are. and I'm afraid you don't know who am I.
give me a ride inside your mind, and I will pay you back with one in mine.
care to take it?
no, don't answer that. I don't want to know. if you want, I am too fragile, too weird for your eyes. if you don't, I'm too fragile, and too weird for your eyes. strange to touch, to feel , to know. unexplored land. will you leave your flag here?
haven't left mine yet. senseless and numb. un aware. self less. shell confined.
divided to my core, to my basics. how can I handle? how can I handle?
abuse and observe. make basics an adventure. sustain myself successfully. live.
and don't think too much..cause it fucks it all up.
30/05/2009
mentira
one night the moon rose and it was half black and half white: balance.
people still stood inside, watching something on their screens.
the moon kept hiding the light of the stars, for some to witness.
cops
ecology
economy
crisis
war
love
work
creativity
unite and separate
cut and tie together
be alone (truly) and be with others
always music
rare moments of silence
alcohol (will I get to be a bukovski?)
effort to observe; record; remember; know; understand-
love and faith. trustfloating; flowing outwards, inwards, around and back again
movement and stillness. same and different; again and again.
a circle, a spiral, yes, at its center crouches nothing, everything, our hollow selves, our ever-inspired souls, our loss, our salvation.
who are we? whose true children? where are those roots, we all sprouted from?
my hands reach the sky like willowy branches of a timeless tree, whose roots I cannot see, my siblings branches cannot touch but some, and have birds perching on me, singing our determined fate, the uncertainty of our existence, the flying joys and our swingeing sorrows
people still stood inside, watching something on their screens.
the moon kept hiding the light of the stars, for some to witness.
cops
ecology
economy
crisis
war
love
work
creativity
unite and separate
cut and tie together
be alone (truly) and be with others
always music
rare moments of silence
alcohol (will I get to be a bukovski?)
effort to observe; record; remember; know; understand-
love and faith. trustfloating; flowing outwards, inwards, around and back again
movement and stillness. same and different; again and again.
a circle, a spiral, yes, at its center crouches nothing, everything, our hollow selves, our ever-inspired souls, our loss, our salvation.
who are we? whose true children? where are those roots, we all sprouted from?
my hands reach the sky like willowy branches of a timeless tree, whose roots I cannot see, my siblings branches cannot touch but some, and have birds perching on me, singing our determined fate, the uncertainty of our existence, the flying joys and our swingeing sorrows
22/05/2009
things aren't always what they seem
Once upon a time there was a big bad wolf. He was all big and bad, and black, pitch black like the night; the night without stars..but his teeth were shiny like the stars, all white and bright..and that wolf, he threaded pieces of meat with these teeth, his fearsome teeth..but at night when he went to his bed, he cried, he cried his eyes out..the big bad wolf was afraid of people..and he tried, he tried hard to stay away from them, and deny..deny his fate
this big bad wolf was alone, and black, pitch black like the night, and he didn't want to go outside, not at night..the other animals wouldn't see him, and he'd feel ashamed..
Once upon a time there was a big bad wolf; this big bad wolf had long gone left the forest and stayed in the city. he was feeding himself with leftovers, chances for game were scarce to none, and he had to lower himself to the life of his distant brothers, aka dogs.
so, he lived in the city, trying to stay alive, and decent. we must say he was doing much better at the first. some days, the really bad ones, he was thinking back in his time in the woods..some days were really hard to bare, impossible not to become reminiscent..so, one of these days, he thought back to his life in the forest..when he was young and strong and wild..and game was abundant..that old memory of self made him feel content. for a moment or so, he forgot his defeated body and soul, and felt again young and strong and wild..soon though he would escape from the old vision and would be struck again with the harshness of his reality, his discouraging surroundings..a sigh would leave his body puffed out..
he would then take the closest turn into a cold, dark, damp street and get lost in the less bright part of the city..when night fell, and the moon was playing with the clouds, he'd try to go up..the only nights he felt rooted again. from the top of a building he'd look up..he'd look up with his eyes open wide, his mouth firmly closed, his two front feet locked on the ground and he'd empty his mind..he was taking a long and steady look at the moon, without blinking, until his eyes became watery and his vision blurred, to the point where the only visible and perceived object was the moon and everything else took the shape that his mind gave it..he would see tall, old trees, where the skyscrapers stood; and all the lights red, and white, and yellow, were fires and eyes from night's predators..and all the vibration of the city was the vibration of the forest..even more the beat of the jungle, which he didn't know, but he felt it inside of him..he stood there, with his ears, attentively drawn on every little noise, making out the street's fuss a wind's blast through the branches..he would wait. he would wait. for the vision to end. and then he would do his ritual to the moon..he would take a long, deep breath; it would begin in a low voice coming from his belly, and then it would rise, the air slowly filling his lungs, until it would be released through a pursed mouth to a long, sighing howl, carrying a thousand pains. all the bad ghosts would flee his soul and he'd feel a little lighter..
this big bad wolf was alone, and black, pitch black like the night, and he didn't want to go outside, not at night..the other animals wouldn't see him, and he'd feel ashamed..
Once upon a time there was a big bad wolf; this big bad wolf had long gone left the forest and stayed in the city. he was feeding himself with leftovers, chances for game were scarce to none, and he had to lower himself to the life of his distant brothers, aka dogs.
so, he lived in the city, trying to stay alive, and decent. we must say he was doing much better at the first. some days, the really bad ones, he was thinking back in his time in the woods..some days were really hard to bare, impossible not to become reminiscent..so, one of these days, he thought back to his life in the forest..when he was young and strong and wild..and game was abundant..that old memory of self made him feel content. for a moment or so, he forgot his defeated body and soul, and felt again young and strong and wild..soon though he would escape from the old vision and would be struck again with the harshness of his reality, his discouraging surroundings..a sigh would leave his body puffed out..
he would then take the closest turn into a cold, dark, damp street and get lost in the less bright part of the city..when night fell, and the moon was playing with the clouds, he'd try to go up..the only nights he felt rooted again. from the top of a building he'd look up..he'd look up with his eyes open wide, his mouth firmly closed, his two front feet locked on the ground and he'd empty his mind..he was taking a long and steady look at the moon, without blinking, until his eyes became watery and his vision blurred, to the point where the only visible and perceived object was the moon and everything else took the shape that his mind gave it..he would see tall, old trees, where the skyscrapers stood; and all the lights red, and white, and yellow, were fires and eyes from night's predators..and all the vibration of the city was the vibration of the forest..even more the beat of the jungle, which he didn't know, but he felt it inside of him..he stood there, with his ears, attentively drawn on every little noise, making out the street's fuss a wind's blast through the branches..he would wait. he would wait. for the vision to end. and then he would do his ritual to the moon..he would take a long, deep breath; it would begin in a low voice coming from his belly, and then it would rise, the air slowly filling his lungs, until it would be released through a pursed mouth to a long, sighing howl, carrying a thousand pains. all the bad ghosts would flee his soul and he'd feel a little lighter..
14/05/2009
10/05/2009
haumea
rain, brain, chain, pain, vain, complain, remain, stain, villain, entertain,
pain pain a song in my brain,
forever remain, the same , the sane, the sage
afraid, afraid, afraid, ready to refrain, not to remain
true to myself
obtain obtain obtain
a fake i.d.
remain remain remain the same
don't be afraid of the growing pain
in vain in vain in vain
you sing your songs of staying sane..
the main the main the main problem
with your brain..
afraid afraid afraid..
of the chain..the chain..
what chain? remain remain..silent!
penetrate....-
concentrate-
pain pain a song in my brain,
forever remain, the same , the sane, the sage
afraid, afraid, afraid, ready to refrain, not to remain
true to myself
obtain obtain obtain
a fake i.d.
remain remain remain the same
don't be afraid of the growing pain
in vain in vain in vain
you sing your songs of staying sane..
the main the main the main problem
with your brain..
afraid afraid afraid..
of the chain..the chain..
what chain? remain remain..silent!
penetrate....-
concentrate-
04/05/2009
old stuff
Το παρακάτω είναι παλιότερο χρονικά από την τελευταία ανάρτηση, αλλά για λόγους που δε μου αποκαλύφθηκαν, το βρήκα ξανά στο κλασικό ημερολόγιο μου μόλις σήμερα. Το παραθέτω, γιατί και για εδώ προοριζόταν.
11/03/09
Εδώ και 4 ημέρες ήμουν άρρωστη. Ήθελα να γράψω στο blog, αλλά η έλλειψη σύνδεσης δε μου το επιτρέπει.
Μετά από 4 ημέρες σωματικής ανημπόριας, κατά διαστήματα πυρετού, υπερέκθεσης σε trash τηλεοπτικά προγράμματα, νιώθω ότι έχω ανάγκη από μουσική, καινούρια μουσική. Ό,τι έχω μες στο laptop μου, το άκουγα σε άλλες φάσεις, άλλες διαθέσεις, εξυπηρετούσε άλλες ανάγκες. Τώρα, που νιώθω ότι πέρασα ένα "σκάμμα" και βγήκα στην άλλη πλευρά έχοντας αφήσει κάτι πίσω και φέρνοντας μαζί κάτι νέο, θέλω κάτι καινούργιο να νανουρίζει το μυαλό μου, να μουδιάζει τις αισθήσεις μου. Γιατί να θέλω όμως κάτι να μουδιάζει τις αισθήσεις μου? Μήπως είναι τόσο οξυμένες που με πονάνε; όχι, όχι κάθε άλλο. Είναι ήδη μουδιασμένες, είναι ήδη από καιρό νωθρές. Λες να έφταιξε αυτό που έφτασα σ' αυτό το σημείο, σ'αυτή τη χώρα της αμνησίας, της αν-αισθησίας; Γιατί όταν δε μπορώ να μοιράζομαι τα αισθήματα μου, τ'αφήνω να μαραίνονται λες και δεν έχουν καμιά αξία μόνα τους; Μήπως εγώ η ίδια σαμποτάρω τις προσπάθειες μου να γίνω καλύτερος άνθρωπος; Κι αυτό το "καλύτερος άνθρωπος".....τι σημαίνει; Τι σημαίνουν όλες μας οι προσπάθειες; και για τα απλά και για τα σύνθετα...Πότε ήταν η τελευταί φορά που ένιωσα...θεϊκη χαρά; Ευδαιμονία; ίσα με τη ζωή; Που είδα κάτι εκστατική; Σαν παιδί αθώα; Γιατί χρειάζομαι τους άλλους; Κι οι άλλοι, (γιατί) με χρειάζονται λιγότερο απ' ότι εγώ;
Γεμίζω σελίδες μ' ανόητες επαναλαμβανόμενες ερωτήσεις και μόλις λίγος καιρός περάσει, ξαναγυρνάω να τις διαβάσω, μπας και ανακαλύψω κάποιο απόσταγμα σοφίας. Οι λέξεις άραγε είναι όπως τα σταφύλια; Ζυμώνονται όσο τις αφήνεις κάπου; Αλλάζουν; Μετασχηματίζονται; Μεταμορφώνονται; Λένε πια κάτι διαφορετικό απ' αυτό που είχαν πει στην αρχή; Ή έχουν αυτήν τη δύναμη/δυνατότητα μόνο πριν μπουν στο χαρτί, μόνο πριν καταγραφούν;
Το τσιγάρο μου καίει το λαιμό. Πρέπει, πραγματικά είναι ανάγκη, σε λίγο καιρό από τώρα (το πολύ 2 χρόνια) να κανω κάτι, επαγγελματικά, με ελεύθερο ωράριο. Να πρέπει να δίνω αναφορά, να μην μπορώ να ησυχάσω ούτε μες στην αρρώστια μου..απαράδεκτο.
7 ώρες δουλειάς
7-8 ώρες ύπνου
14-15 ώρες που υπάρχεις και "κάνεις" κάτι στο οποίο δε συμμετέχεις 100%. Μ' ένα μυαλό είτε προγραμματισμένο να δουλεύει έτσι είτε μισοκοισμένο. Κι οι υπόλοιπες 9-10 ώρες δανείζονται αυτόν τον υπνωτισμένο, χαζό εγκέφαλο για να εξυπηρετήσουν εσένα και το δημιουργικό εαυτό σου. Πόσο δημιουργικός μπορείς όμως να είσαι μ' αυτό το μυαλό που έχει καεί απ'το να "τρέχει" τέτοια προγράμματα;
Κάποτε η φαντασία μου κάλπαζε ολη τη μέρα και έφτανε στη νύχτα ακούραστη. Τα όνειρα μου ήταν τόσο ζωντανά.
11/03/09
Εδώ και 4 ημέρες ήμουν άρρωστη. Ήθελα να γράψω στο blog, αλλά η έλλειψη σύνδεσης δε μου το επιτρέπει.
Μετά από 4 ημέρες σωματικής ανημπόριας, κατά διαστήματα πυρετού, υπερέκθεσης σε trash τηλεοπτικά προγράμματα, νιώθω ότι έχω ανάγκη από μουσική, καινούρια μουσική. Ό,τι έχω μες στο laptop μου, το άκουγα σε άλλες φάσεις, άλλες διαθέσεις, εξυπηρετούσε άλλες ανάγκες. Τώρα, που νιώθω ότι πέρασα ένα "σκάμμα" και βγήκα στην άλλη πλευρά έχοντας αφήσει κάτι πίσω και φέρνοντας μαζί κάτι νέο, θέλω κάτι καινούργιο να νανουρίζει το μυαλό μου, να μουδιάζει τις αισθήσεις μου. Γιατί να θέλω όμως κάτι να μουδιάζει τις αισθήσεις μου? Μήπως είναι τόσο οξυμένες που με πονάνε; όχι, όχι κάθε άλλο. Είναι ήδη μουδιασμένες, είναι ήδη από καιρό νωθρές. Λες να έφταιξε αυτό που έφτασα σ' αυτό το σημείο, σ'αυτή τη χώρα της αμνησίας, της αν-αισθησίας; Γιατί όταν δε μπορώ να μοιράζομαι τα αισθήματα μου, τ'αφήνω να μαραίνονται λες και δεν έχουν καμιά αξία μόνα τους; Μήπως εγώ η ίδια σαμποτάρω τις προσπάθειες μου να γίνω καλύτερος άνθρωπος; Κι αυτό το "καλύτερος άνθρωπος".....τι σημαίνει; Τι σημαίνουν όλες μας οι προσπάθειες; και για τα απλά και για τα σύνθετα...Πότε ήταν η τελευταί φορά που ένιωσα...θεϊκη χαρά; Ευδαιμονία; ίσα με τη ζωή; Που είδα κάτι εκστατική; Σαν παιδί αθώα; Γιατί χρειάζομαι τους άλλους; Κι οι άλλοι, (γιατί) με χρειάζονται λιγότερο απ' ότι εγώ;
Γεμίζω σελίδες μ' ανόητες επαναλαμβανόμενες ερωτήσεις και μόλις λίγος καιρός περάσει, ξαναγυρνάω να τις διαβάσω, μπας και ανακαλύψω κάποιο απόσταγμα σοφίας. Οι λέξεις άραγε είναι όπως τα σταφύλια; Ζυμώνονται όσο τις αφήνεις κάπου; Αλλάζουν; Μετασχηματίζονται; Μεταμορφώνονται; Λένε πια κάτι διαφορετικό απ' αυτό που είχαν πει στην αρχή; Ή έχουν αυτήν τη δύναμη/δυνατότητα μόνο πριν μπουν στο χαρτί, μόνο πριν καταγραφούν;
Το τσιγάρο μου καίει το λαιμό. Πρέπει, πραγματικά είναι ανάγκη, σε λίγο καιρό από τώρα (το πολύ 2 χρόνια) να κανω κάτι, επαγγελματικά, με ελεύθερο ωράριο. Να πρέπει να δίνω αναφορά, να μην μπορώ να ησυχάσω ούτε μες στην αρρώστια μου..απαράδεκτο.
7 ώρες δουλειάς
7-8 ώρες ύπνου
14-15 ώρες που υπάρχεις και "κάνεις" κάτι στο οποίο δε συμμετέχεις 100%. Μ' ένα μυαλό είτε προγραμματισμένο να δουλεύει έτσι είτε μισοκοισμένο. Κι οι υπόλοιπες 9-10 ώρες δανείζονται αυτόν τον υπνωτισμένο, χαζό εγκέφαλο για να εξυπηρετήσουν εσένα και το δημιουργικό εαυτό σου. Πόσο δημιουργικός μπορείς όμως να είσαι μ' αυτό το μυαλό που έχει καεί απ'το να "τρέχει" τέτοια προγράμματα;
Κάποτε η φαντασία μου κάλπαζε ολη τη μέρα και έφτανε στη νύχτα ακούραστη. Τα όνειρα μου ήταν τόσο ζωντανά.
13/03/2009
confused
I am thrown, like everyone else, in this life, in this world, without a compass, without a manual; and I'm trying on my own to figure out the rules of this game, the way to move forward. My head is full of useless -mostly- thoughts. Somewhen I adopted the idea that I have to clear it from all this trash, get rid of all of it and keep only what's good, what's worth holding on to.. How can I separate the one from the other however? Sometimes it all seems junk, sometimes everything seems to be there for a reason..even if the reason is not disclosed to me, clearly; definitely.
Life is to be enjoyed, they say. Life is a school; and it gives you lessons..for later..when is that later? Life is a bridge; don't build your house on a bridge. Everyone around is building a house right here. And I'm trying not to do that, but I'm trying to do others everyone else is doing. How else can you, can I define myself if not by comparison or analogy to my equals, my peers? humanity as a whole?
I don't know how other people perceive life; I don't know if they see what I see. I don't know how much of a common vision or illusion we share. Sometimes I think I stand alone on my point of view. Sometimes I think it's just stolen. It's so hard to tell what's really mine from what's not. Maybe nothing of it all really belongs to me; was generated by me, provoked by my actions, made an experience by and for me.
"Life is a fable told by a fool"..or something like it..Shakespeare -I think- said..
So much for my English literature studies..
My life, your life, everyone's life..the big lives, the ones that brought changes, the short lives, the insignificant ones, the forgotten ones, all the lives, all the generations of all people...what is their meaning? what stays in the end? is there a conclusion? or is life like a huge novel, conceived by a literal genius, only to be interpreted again and again, having essays-lives written on it, without ever assuming a final and definite meaning?
"Everything flows" Heracleitus said around 5th century B.C. And so it is I guess. He was one of the successful interpreters. But do I feel the movement? Of course I do feel a kind of motion..but it's not the one it's supposed to be..It only has to do with time. It's linear, horizontal, only time-related. It doesn't really go anywhere. I don't really go anywhere. I feel like I'm standing on the same spot for aeons now. Not learning anything new; not getting rid of anything useless, burdening. Life is a river; and you can't enter it twice. Heracleitus said this one as well. So, nothing repeats itself, right? But, why, although I basically agree with Heracleitus, feel that everything is a repetition? Of course, the props and the characters change, and the plot too may be a little different..but the lesson..the message, the hidden meaning never changes. One thing is fighting to be communicated to us; are we hearing it? are we getting it? What is this message? They say -yes, other people have already said wiser things than what I'm trying to say- that even if we got the answer to the big questions, we wouldn't be able to perceive it. What does this mean? That we should stop posing questions bigger than ourselves, or that we should simply (sic) stop being who we are in order to get the answer? And, in the first place, how come are we gifted with the ability to pose questions whose answers we are unable to understand? It's like if I was setting up a mathematical equation without having the slightest idea about the steps necessary to get to the result. How could I do that? I can't! Cause I don't know anything about mathematics; I don't hate them; I respect them; but still, I don't get them. I don't get it. So, with this logical equation, I reach the conclusion -a small one, not the final- that for us to have the capacity to pose this kind of questions, we also must have the capacity to get the answers to them..right? Only, this capacity is hidden I think. And coming to think about it, in some people, probably even the ability to pose questions is hidden, deactivated. So, should I consider myself lucky then? Having gone half of the way? Or some of the way at least? I don't feel lucky; I feel lucky I'm alive. I feel lucky for the chances, for the potential. For everything not yet but somewhen-to-become manifested. Is that sense hope? Is that sense trust? Faith in life? Faith in a purpose? My purpose?
Does life really have a purpose? Even a noble one? Does it have that? Yet another say came in my mind. Life is a game. This is a little bit like "life is to be enjoyed" only that not only games are enjoyed; so, although it's similar, it's different. So, life is a game. Life is a bridge. Life is a river. Life is a school.
Some random definitions. So, I'll try now and make a lifequide for all of us lost, wandering, brave souls who really need an instructions book to make it through life.
If it's a game, you have to play; So, imagine yourself like a child, innocent and blissful, laughing, bright and carefree, jumping up and down, like this is the sole most important thing in the whole world; You keep on playing and laughing and enjoying and then you go to life-definition #2: Life is a bridge. So, now you're a child playing and laughing and enjoying but not building a house on the bridge. Definition of life #3: Life is a river. What do you need sailing on or crossing a river? A boat I guess...Thus, you are a child playing, laughing, enjoyning, not building a house on the bridge, on a boat sailing on a river. And #4: Life is a school. You are now a child, playing, laughing, enjoying, not building a house on the bridge, on a boat sailing on a river with a bunch of books and workbooks with you! Does this image make any sense? Is it or is is not the portrait of a fool? Just think about it..Create this image in your head for a while.. Does the eternal meaning whisper through? Don't think so. If everything that life has been said to be is true, then, either alone or combined, should make some sense. But they don't. Is this perhaps the final answer? Well, final is too big a word, but..
Life has no meaning? That's the meaning of life? That it has none? I wonder who or what has brought us here to fight our stupid "wars", defend our ridiculous causes thinking we're doing something very important. What is the importance of what we are doing? What is its value? Even the big poets, the big philosophers, the great religious men whose words and acts still resonate today, did not change the human condition. We do read their words of wisdom, we borrow for a while their visions of the absolute, the eternal..but..does it make any difference deep inside us? Do we become different? Do we evolve? Does it really have a tremendous impact on our -state of- being? Or does it just fill our head, my head, with that much more I cannot deal with, I'm too small for, I can't perceive? Everything now is intertwined in my head; nothing makes sense, nothing is clear, and as far as truths go, the only thing I can make out from the constant,annoying buzz in my head, is long distant voices of what was once revealed, but now roams only as a far, forgotten remote ghost of a glimpse of truth I, in a different time, ages ago, stole.
I, am a thief of truth; a burglar in the house of knowledge.
Life is to be enjoyed, they say. Life is a school; and it gives you lessons..for later..when is that later? Life is a bridge; don't build your house on a bridge. Everyone around is building a house right here. And I'm trying not to do that, but I'm trying to do others everyone else is doing. How else can you, can I define myself if not by comparison or analogy to my equals, my peers? humanity as a whole?
I don't know how other people perceive life; I don't know if they see what I see. I don't know how much of a common vision or illusion we share. Sometimes I think I stand alone on my point of view. Sometimes I think it's just stolen. It's so hard to tell what's really mine from what's not. Maybe nothing of it all really belongs to me; was generated by me, provoked by my actions, made an experience by and for me.
"Life is a fable told by a fool"..or something like it..Shakespeare -I think- said..
So much for my English literature studies..
My life, your life, everyone's life..the big lives, the ones that brought changes, the short lives, the insignificant ones, the forgotten ones, all the lives, all the generations of all people...what is their meaning? what stays in the end? is there a conclusion? or is life like a huge novel, conceived by a literal genius, only to be interpreted again and again, having essays-lives written on it, without ever assuming a final and definite meaning?
"Everything flows" Heracleitus said around 5th century B.C. And so it is I guess. He was one of the successful interpreters. But do I feel the movement? Of course I do feel a kind of motion..but it's not the one it's supposed to be..It only has to do with time. It's linear, horizontal, only time-related. It doesn't really go anywhere. I don't really go anywhere. I feel like I'm standing on the same spot for aeons now. Not learning anything new; not getting rid of anything useless, burdening. Life is a river; and you can't enter it twice. Heracleitus said this one as well. So, nothing repeats itself, right? But, why, although I basically agree with Heracleitus, feel that everything is a repetition? Of course, the props and the characters change, and the plot too may be a little different..but the lesson..the message, the hidden meaning never changes. One thing is fighting to be communicated to us; are we hearing it? are we getting it? What is this message? They say -yes, other people have already said wiser things than what I'm trying to say- that even if we got the answer to the big questions, we wouldn't be able to perceive it. What does this mean? That we should stop posing questions bigger than ourselves, or that we should simply (sic) stop being who we are in order to get the answer? And, in the first place, how come are we gifted with the ability to pose questions whose answers we are unable to understand? It's like if I was setting up a mathematical equation without having the slightest idea about the steps necessary to get to the result. How could I do that? I can't! Cause I don't know anything about mathematics; I don't hate them; I respect them; but still, I don't get them. I don't get it. So, with this logical equation, I reach the conclusion -a small one, not the final- that for us to have the capacity to pose this kind of questions, we also must have the capacity to get the answers to them..right? Only, this capacity is hidden I think. And coming to think about it, in some people, probably even the ability to pose questions is hidden, deactivated. So, should I consider myself lucky then? Having gone half of the way? Or some of the way at least? I don't feel lucky; I feel lucky I'm alive. I feel lucky for the chances, for the potential. For everything not yet but somewhen-to-become manifested. Is that sense hope? Is that sense trust? Faith in life? Faith in a purpose? My purpose?
Does life really have a purpose? Even a noble one? Does it have that? Yet another say came in my mind. Life is a game. This is a little bit like "life is to be enjoyed" only that not only games are enjoyed; so, although it's similar, it's different. So, life is a game. Life is a bridge. Life is a river. Life is a school.
Some random definitions. So, I'll try now and make a lifequide for all of us lost, wandering, brave souls who really need an instructions book to make it through life.
If it's a game, you have to play; So, imagine yourself like a child, innocent and blissful, laughing, bright and carefree, jumping up and down, like this is the sole most important thing in the whole world; You keep on playing and laughing and enjoying and then you go to life-definition #2: Life is a bridge. So, now you're a child playing and laughing and enjoying but not building a house on the bridge. Definition of life #3: Life is a river. What do you need sailing on or crossing a river? A boat I guess...Thus, you are a child playing, laughing, enjoyning, not building a house on the bridge, on a boat sailing on a river. And #4: Life is a school. You are now a child, playing, laughing, enjoying, not building a house on the bridge, on a boat sailing on a river with a bunch of books and workbooks with you! Does this image make any sense? Is it or is is not the portrait of a fool? Just think about it..Create this image in your head for a while.. Does the eternal meaning whisper through? Don't think so. If everything that life has been said to be is true, then, either alone or combined, should make some sense. But they don't. Is this perhaps the final answer? Well, final is too big a word, but..
Life has no meaning? That's the meaning of life? That it has none? I wonder who or what has brought us here to fight our stupid "wars", defend our ridiculous causes thinking we're doing something very important. What is the importance of what we are doing? What is its value? Even the big poets, the big philosophers, the great religious men whose words and acts still resonate today, did not change the human condition. We do read their words of wisdom, we borrow for a while their visions of the absolute, the eternal..but..does it make any difference deep inside us? Do we become different? Do we evolve? Does it really have a tremendous impact on our -state of- being? Or does it just fill our head, my head, with that much more I cannot deal with, I'm too small for, I can't perceive? Everything now is intertwined in my head; nothing makes sense, nothing is clear, and as far as truths go, the only thing I can make out from the constant,annoying buzz in my head, is long distant voices of what was once revealed, but now roams only as a far, forgotten remote ghost of a glimpse of truth I, in a different time, ages ago, stole.
I, am a thief of truth; a burglar in the house of knowledge.
28/02/2009
16/02/2009
Μαλθακή ζωή
Σα να μη θες ν' αφήσεις το μανίκι που τραβάς επίμονα, μόνο και μόνο για να τ'αφήσεις.
Ελεύθερος-
Μόνος-
Τ'αντέχεις; Πώς; Θέλω να μάθω.
Η τέχνη βρίσκεται στη δύναμη, την επιμονή, τη συχνότητα, την ηχητική ή όχι υπόκρουση του τραβήγματος.
Αν υπάρξει αρμονία μεταξύ των τεσσάρων βασικών-και λέω βασικών, γιατί σίγουρα υπάρχουν κι άλλοι δευτερεύοντες παράγοντες- συστατικών ενός καλού τραβήγματος, τότε το αποτέλεσμα είναι ικανοποιητικό και άμεσο. με εξασφαλισμένη μάλλον τη μακροπρόθεσμη φύση της έκβασης.
Η επιτυχία έρχεται με την παρακάτω δοσολογία:
Δύναμη: Πρέπει νά'ναι μέτρια, τόσο όσο να γίνεται αισθητή από τον παραλήπτη. Το σημαντικότερο όμως είναι να είναι ΣΤΑΘΕΡΗ. Πράγμα που μας φέρνει στον παράγοντα
Επιμονή: Ένα τράβηγμα, μόλις έχει αποφασιστεί να εκτελεστεί ή πραγματοποιηθεί, ο λήπτης της απόφασης και εκτελεστής της, πρέπει να μην υποχωρήσει ούτε χιλιοστό! Το παράτημα του τραβήγματος, πολύ σύντομα ή πολύ αργά, μετά από πολλή ώρα, όταν δηλαδή η έκβαση έχει κριθεί, οφείλεται ν'αποφεύγονται. προς όφελος του διεκδικητή φυσικά.
Η ΣΥΧΝΟΤΗΤΑ τώρα, είναι αυτό που λέμε το μυστικό συστατικό της επιτυχίας. είναι το δυσκολότερα ύποπτο για τον καθοριστικό ρόλο στην επιτυχή έκβαση της αναμέτρησης. Όχι πολύ γρήγορη ούτε πολύ αργή. και εδώ, το μυστικό κρύβεται στην επιλογή της Μέσης Οδού. Ο ρυθμός συντονίζεταιο με το ρυθμό του σύμπαντος και έλκει τα πάντα. και την προσοχή των άλλων. Γι' αυτό, αν δεν τα καταφέρνετε με τις άλλες 2 οδηγίες, παρακαλούμε προσπαθήστε με αυτήν εδώ.
Τέταρτος βασικός παράγοντας είναι το ηχητικό "σεντόνι" που θα ντύνει τη διαδικασία του τραβήγματος.
Γι'αυτό φίλοι, έχω να σας πω πως επαφίεται αποκλειστικά στη διακριτική ευχέρεια του "τραβηχτή". Αν κάποιος θεωρεί ότι η χρήση ηχητικών εφέ θα του/της επιφέρει τα πιο επιθυμητά των αποτελεσμάτων, τότε είναι ελεύθερος να το κάνει. και καλή τύχη.
Αν πάλι νομίζει ότι η βουβή προσέγγιση είναι πιο άμεση, πιο σαφής και άρα πιο αποτελεσματική, μπορεί κι αυτός με τη σειρά του να επιλέξει αυτό το μονοπάτι.
Πάντως, ο "διεκδικητής" οφείλει να ξέρει ακόμη ένα-δύο πράγματα για την τέχνη του τραβήγματος:
α) Τις περισσότερες φορές, κι αν όχι, πολλές, ο δέκτης του τραβήγματος θα αντισταθεί και θα πει όχι στην πραγματοποίηση της διακαούς σου επιθυμίας. Και θ'απογοητευτείς. Και οι πρωτες φορές δεν θά'ναι απλά οι πρώιμες δύσκολες στιγμές. θά'ναι το πρελούδιο όλο και περισσότερων, όλο και δυνατότερων απορρίψεων.
Πρόσεξε όμως. μην χάνεις τον εαυτό σου μέσα σ'αυτήν την εικόνα. Μπορείς πάντα νά'σαι ο διεκδικητής, απλά πρέπει ν'αλλάξεις τρόπο και ΝΟΟΤΡΟΠΙΑ. Τώρα, όλη σου η ουσία και η κινητήριος σου δύναμη συγκεντρώνεται σ'ένα πράγμα: την ΥΠΟΜΟΝΗ ΣΟΥ.
Κι επειδή μπορεί νά'γινες μεγαλύτερος αλλά και τα μανίκια που τραβάς τώρα ντύνουν και δυνατότερα χέρια, πρέπει αυτήν την ιδιότητα να κρατήσεις μόνο και τότε η ζωή σου, είτε επιτυχίες είτε αποτυχίες σου προσφέρει, για'σένα θά'ναι το ίδιο.
Και κάποια φορά, όταν τα καταλάβεις όλα, τότε δε θά'χεις ανάγκη απ'το μανίκι, καμιά ανάγκη να γαντζώνεσαι πάνω του πια, τότε θα είσαι ελεύθερος. Και δεν θα φοβάσαι. Και μόνος. Και δεν θα λυπάσαι, δε θα θλίβεσαι. Θα ξέρεις πως το μανίκι ήταν απλά
Ελεύθερος-
Μόνος-
Τ'αντέχεις; Πώς; Θέλω να μάθω.
Η τέχνη βρίσκεται στη δύναμη, την επιμονή, τη συχνότητα, την ηχητική ή όχι υπόκρουση του τραβήγματος.
Αν υπάρξει αρμονία μεταξύ των τεσσάρων βασικών-και λέω βασικών, γιατί σίγουρα υπάρχουν κι άλλοι δευτερεύοντες παράγοντες- συστατικών ενός καλού τραβήγματος, τότε το αποτέλεσμα είναι ικανοποιητικό και άμεσο. με εξασφαλισμένη μάλλον τη μακροπρόθεσμη φύση της έκβασης.
Η επιτυχία έρχεται με την παρακάτω δοσολογία:
Δύναμη: Πρέπει νά'ναι μέτρια, τόσο όσο να γίνεται αισθητή από τον παραλήπτη. Το σημαντικότερο όμως είναι να είναι ΣΤΑΘΕΡΗ. Πράγμα που μας φέρνει στον παράγοντα
Επιμονή: Ένα τράβηγμα, μόλις έχει αποφασιστεί να εκτελεστεί ή πραγματοποιηθεί, ο λήπτης της απόφασης και εκτελεστής της, πρέπει να μην υποχωρήσει ούτε χιλιοστό! Το παράτημα του τραβήγματος, πολύ σύντομα ή πολύ αργά, μετά από πολλή ώρα, όταν δηλαδή η έκβαση έχει κριθεί, οφείλεται ν'αποφεύγονται. προς όφελος του διεκδικητή φυσικά.
Η ΣΥΧΝΟΤΗΤΑ τώρα, είναι αυτό που λέμε το μυστικό συστατικό της επιτυχίας. είναι το δυσκολότερα ύποπτο για τον καθοριστικό ρόλο στην επιτυχή έκβαση της αναμέτρησης. Όχι πολύ γρήγορη ούτε πολύ αργή. και εδώ, το μυστικό κρύβεται στην επιλογή της Μέσης Οδού. Ο ρυθμός συντονίζεταιο με το ρυθμό του σύμπαντος και έλκει τα πάντα. και την προσοχή των άλλων. Γι' αυτό, αν δεν τα καταφέρνετε με τις άλλες 2 οδηγίες, παρακαλούμε προσπαθήστε με αυτήν εδώ.
Τέταρτος βασικός παράγοντας είναι το ηχητικό "σεντόνι" που θα ντύνει τη διαδικασία του τραβήγματος.
Γι'αυτό φίλοι, έχω να σας πω πως επαφίεται αποκλειστικά στη διακριτική ευχέρεια του "τραβηχτή". Αν κάποιος θεωρεί ότι η χρήση ηχητικών εφέ θα του/της επιφέρει τα πιο επιθυμητά των αποτελεσμάτων, τότε είναι ελεύθερος να το κάνει. και καλή τύχη.
Αν πάλι νομίζει ότι η βουβή προσέγγιση είναι πιο άμεση, πιο σαφής και άρα πιο αποτελεσματική, μπορεί κι αυτός με τη σειρά του να επιλέξει αυτό το μονοπάτι.
Πάντως, ο "διεκδικητής" οφείλει να ξέρει ακόμη ένα-δύο πράγματα για την τέχνη του τραβήγματος:
α) Τις περισσότερες φορές, κι αν όχι, πολλές, ο δέκτης του τραβήγματος θα αντισταθεί και θα πει όχι στην πραγματοποίηση της διακαούς σου επιθυμίας. Και θ'απογοητευτείς. Και οι πρωτες φορές δεν θά'ναι απλά οι πρώιμες δύσκολες στιγμές. θά'ναι το πρελούδιο όλο και περισσότερων, όλο και δυνατότερων απορρίψεων.
Πρόσεξε όμως. μην χάνεις τον εαυτό σου μέσα σ'αυτήν την εικόνα. Μπορείς πάντα νά'σαι ο διεκδικητής, απλά πρέπει ν'αλλάξεις τρόπο και ΝΟΟΤΡΟΠΙΑ. Τώρα, όλη σου η ουσία και η κινητήριος σου δύναμη συγκεντρώνεται σ'ένα πράγμα: την ΥΠΟΜΟΝΗ ΣΟΥ.
Κι επειδή μπορεί νά'γινες μεγαλύτερος αλλά και τα μανίκια που τραβάς τώρα ντύνουν και δυνατότερα χέρια, πρέπει αυτήν την ιδιότητα να κρατήσεις μόνο και τότε η ζωή σου, είτε επιτυχίες είτε αποτυχίες σου προσφέρει, για'σένα θά'ναι το ίδιο.
Και κάποια φορά, όταν τα καταλάβεις όλα, τότε δε θά'χεις ανάγκη απ'το μανίκι, καμιά ανάγκη να γαντζώνεσαι πάνω του πια, τότε θα είσαι ελεύθερος. Και δεν θα φοβάσαι. Και μόνος. Και δεν θα λυπάσαι, δε θα θλίβεσαι. Θα ξέρεις πως το μανίκι ήταν απλά
28/01/2009
another wednesday
in a room which is not mine, yet contains me;
from the window across the bed there is not much to see-
all to be seen is inside again. folding and unfolding endlessly. soon things start shaping up; start making sense. whether we like it or not, it's there. and love has become too big a notion for us to perceive, an emotion for us to feel.
petty little thieves of people's carefully and tenderly constructed worlds. we have become..
tired and disgusted of ourselves, we let everyone else steal us; perhaps that's the way to feel love; share your beautiful inner ambience, hoping to find someone who wants to dwell in it, stay with you even for a while, as you wind through the labyrinths of your soul..you'll have him over for a tea in your garden..he'll drink it..the dusk will catch you unguarded. "wanna come inside?" you'll ask. you will be waiting for the answer that will not leave you alone one more time. "yes"
will he love me? does he want to see the bedroom, the kitchen, the bathroom, every small space and corner of my world? or does he just wanna scratch the surface?
suspicious or not, you know better than leaving "chances" go lost..
maybe this will get the ball rolling, you think..
the story is old and it has tired you; your skin is full of thousands of little scratches..that started as strokes..you didn't know. you wish for a big scar to be engraved on your soft, willing flesh. hurtful as it might be, you wanna feel it.
craving for joys.
from the window across the bed there is not much to see-
all to be seen is inside again. folding and unfolding endlessly. soon things start shaping up; start making sense. whether we like it or not, it's there. and love has become too big a notion for us to perceive, an emotion for us to feel.
petty little thieves of people's carefully and tenderly constructed worlds. we have become..
tired and disgusted of ourselves, we let everyone else steal us; perhaps that's the way to feel love; share your beautiful inner ambience, hoping to find someone who wants to dwell in it, stay with you even for a while, as you wind through the labyrinths of your soul..you'll have him over for a tea in your garden..he'll drink it..the dusk will catch you unguarded. "wanna come inside?" you'll ask. you will be waiting for the answer that will not leave you alone one more time. "yes"
will he love me? does he want to see the bedroom, the kitchen, the bathroom, every small space and corner of my world? or does he just wanna scratch the surface?
suspicious or not, you know better than leaving "chances" go lost..
maybe this will get the ball rolling, you think..
the story is old and it has tired you; your skin is full of thousands of little scratches..that started as strokes..you didn't know. you wish for a big scar to be engraved on your soft, willing flesh. hurtful as it might be, you wanna feel it.
craving for joys.
21/01/2009
το κρασί του μίδα
αυτό που πίνουμε και μεθάμε και τα πράγματα αρχίζουν να μοιάζουν "χρυσά" τη στιγμή που είναι τενεκέδες..το κακό είναι ότι εμείς, αντίθετα απ'το Μίδα που κατάλαβε την κατάρα που είχε ο ίδιος ζητήσει για τον εαυτό του, δεν θέλουμε ποτέ να συνέλθουμε απ'αυτό το μεθύσι..απλά φεύγει μόνο του..και μένουμε με τα κάρβουνα που μαζεύαμε για διαμάντια στα χέρια μας, ν'αναρωτιόμαστε τι πήγε στραβά. πότε γίναμε τόσο τυφλοί? ποιο μαύρο σύννεφο μας σκέπασε αφήνοντας μας να νομίζουμε ότι είμαστε λουσμένοι στο φως? ποιος μικρός θεός μέσα μας αποφασίζει να μας δώσει τόσο σκληρά μαθήματα?
αυτό το καβούκι νόμιζα ότι είχε σπάσει..γιατί γυρνάει πάντα να μου υπενθυμίσει ότι ένα κομμάτι της σάρκας μου είναι κολλημένο πια αμετάκλητα πάνω στο σκληρό περίβλημα? το μέσα είναι μαλακό αλλά δε φοβάται ούτε την αλμύρα ούτε το τσούξιμο ούτε το να μην μπορεί ν'αναπνεύσει..το σκοτάδι μέσα είναι γνωστό και φιλικό πια..φόβος δεν υπάρχει..ο πόνος τον εξαφάνισε. η αγάπη για το φως όμως, η λαχτάρα για αισθήσεις άλλες απ'αυτές τις βελούδινα μαύρες, με κάνει να τραβιέμαι προς τα έξω..να σκίζω τη μαλακή σάρκα μου για να ρίξω μια ματιά έξω.
το νερό. η φωτιά. θέλω μια δυνατή ανεξέλεγκτη πυρκαγιά να μην αφήσει ούτε ίχνος. να μην μπορεί κανείς, ούτε καν κι εγώ, να καταλάβει τι υπήρχε πριν, τι κάηκε τόσο υπέροχα κι απόλυτα.. το νερό "διώχνει", μεταφέρει τα "σκουπίδια", τον πόνο, τις άσχημες στιγμές που κολλάνε μέσα μας αλλά δεν τις εξαϋλώνει..
θέλω τη φωτιά να έρθει σαν τιμωρία και λύτρωση μαζί. κάθε άρρωστο παράσιτο που έθρεψα μ'αγάπη και φροντίδα να επιστρέψει στη φυσική του κατάσταση ανυπαρξίας.
από τι τρέφομαι εγώ και με τι τρέφω τους ανεπιθυμήτους φιλοξενούμενους μου? ποιά "μάνα" μας ταϊζει όλους? πόσος χώρος υπάρχει για όλους μας?
σβήνεται η ιστορία μας? μπορούμε να ζούμε χωρίς αυτήν? χωρίς να επηρεάζει τη σκέψη μας, τη ζωή μας, την αντίληψη μας για τους άλλους ανθρώπους? μπορούμε να είμαστε κάθε στιγμή καθαροί κι ελεύθεροι σα νά'ναι η πρώτη μας στιγμή εδώ πάνω?
αυτή τη στιγμή η προσωπική μου ιστορία μ'έχει λούσει ή ακόμα χειρότερα μ'έχει φτύσει!
όλα τα φαντάσματα ξύπνησαν και, surprise surprise, δεν είχαν πεθάνει ποτέ..χα..
βαρέθηκα να κουβαλάω πτώματα..θέλω μια καινούρια, καθαρή Βίκη.
λοιπόν, σήμερα, νιώθω νά'μαι η έρημος
αυτό το καβούκι νόμιζα ότι είχε σπάσει..γιατί γυρνάει πάντα να μου υπενθυμίσει ότι ένα κομμάτι της σάρκας μου είναι κολλημένο πια αμετάκλητα πάνω στο σκληρό περίβλημα? το μέσα είναι μαλακό αλλά δε φοβάται ούτε την αλμύρα ούτε το τσούξιμο ούτε το να μην μπορεί ν'αναπνεύσει..το σκοτάδι μέσα είναι γνωστό και φιλικό πια..φόβος δεν υπάρχει..ο πόνος τον εξαφάνισε. η αγάπη για το φως όμως, η λαχτάρα για αισθήσεις άλλες απ'αυτές τις βελούδινα μαύρες, με κάνει να τραβιέμαι προς τα έξω..να σκίζω τη μαλακή σάρκα μου για να ρίξω μια ματιά έξω.
το νερό. η φωτιά. θέλω μια δυνατή ανεξέλεγκτη πυρκαγιά να μην αφήσει ούτε ίχνος. να μην μπορεί κανείς, ούτε καν κι εγώ, να καταλάβει τι υπήρχε πριν, τι κάηκε τόσο υπέροχα κι απόλυτα.. το νερό "διώχνει", μεταφέρει τα "σκουπίδια", τον πόνο, τις άσχημες στιγμές που κολλάνε μέσα μας αλλά δεν τις εξαϋλώνει..
θέλω τη φωτιά να έρθει σαν τιμωρία και λύτρωση μαζί. κάθε άρρωστο παράσιτο που έθρεψα μ'αγάπη και φροντίδα να επιστρέψει στη φυσική του κατάσταση ανυπαρξίας.
από τι τρέφομαι εγώ και με τι τρέφω τους ανεπιθυμήτους φιλοξενούμενους μου? ποιά "μάνα" μας ταϊζει όλους? πόσος χώρος υπάρχει για όλους μας?
σβήνεται η ιστορία μας? μπορούμε να ζούμε χωρίς αυτήν? χωρίς να επηρεάζει τη σκέψη μας, τη ζωή μας, την αντίληψη μας για τους άλλους ανθρώπους? μπορούμε να είμαστε κάθε στιγμή καθαροί κι ελεύθεροι σα νά'ναι η πρώτη μας στιγμή εδώ πάνω?
αυτή τη στιγμή η προσωπική μου ιστορία μ'έχει λούσει ή ακόμα χειρότερα μ'έχει φτύσει!
όλα τα φαντάσματα ξύπνησαν και, surprise surprise, δεν είχαν πεθάνει ποτέ..χα..
βαρέθηκα να κουβαλάω πτώματα..θέλω μια καινούρια, καθαρή Βίκη.
λοιπόν, σήμερα, νιώθω νά'μαι η έρημος
14/01/2009
alignment
thievery corporation and "the goddess within"...the latter bought today
in one of grassmarket's gallery shops...
a new notebook, an old cigarette, old-sounding music.
what love is?
the woman's layout and physicality are so much different than that of the man's.
beyond gender, beyond sex
the grassmarket
the grasshopper
the brassmonkey
the forest?
bloggering: the act of pretending to be a blogger while you're a mere time-waster with too much crappy stuff on your head that none of your friends wants to hear about.
in one of grassmarket's gallery shops...
a new notebook, an old cigarette, old-sounding music.
what love is?
the woman's layout and physicality are so much different than that of the man's.
beyond gender, beyond sex
the grassmarket
the grasshopper
the brassmonkey
the forest?
bloggering: the act of pretending to be a blogger while you're a mere time-waster with too much crappy stuff on your head that none of your friends wants to hear about.
13/01/2009
madrugada playing on my speakerless laptop, in an appartment so familiar and strange at the same time..
ta..
talking about tea and its rituals
watching the transparent lives.
minimal; takes the thought further away;doesn't give you all at once..
the plants died.
listening to this music here..so different, so palpable..full of life and meaning;
syn-thesis
ta..
talking about tea and its rituals
watching the transparent lives.
minimal; takes the thought further away;doesn't give you all at once..
the plants died.
listening to this music here..so different, so palpable..full of life and meaning;
syn-thesis
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