Πέμπτη, 7 Οκτωβρίου 2010

Mean to Me

I shudder...
Thinking of what you might come to mean to me
Of what you already mean to me
I put up a shield cause...
Cause if you take a closer look at my blackness
You will leave...run away...
Erase me from your memory,
As if I’ve never existed.
If you take a closer look you will see
A torn-out dusty book, that's been left there
On the bottom forgotten shelf...
Its pages all yellowish and in sanguine are dressed
My writings are full of odd carvings that need
Extensive encryption to decode
My meanings are many, and my essence is plain
If you take a closer look, you will see a woman
That you couldn't possibly love,
Not in a physical, not in a mental way.
I shudder again, at night
Because your ghost is there keeping me sweet company
Your ghost is in love with me, and I with it
But I took a closer look, and I saw my emptiness in the dark
And your richness in light, and I resist you
Not because you don't mean to me,
But because you mean to me more than you should
And my journey is paved with thorns and blood
And I never want to wound you intentionally or not
...you mean to me, period.
That shall be my Phoenician stop, period.
...you mean to my spirit everything.

Winters Come, Winters Go

How cruel a burden
To have lookt in thy abyss
To have swam in thy dune
Bathed in thy chaos and see paradise

How sinister a thought
To have thy bonds planted in eternity
To have thy gaze blown away
Into another obscure path, into another way

How fearsome to lead mine dead-ends
To have witnessed the oblivion of knowledge
To be turned away from the fruit
But yet tasted it in mine weary fantasies

How troublesome thy winters have reached me
To build our bond in two worlds’ apart
To be sardonically unable to melt thy steel heart
For thy Midas’ thoughts will always be mine crash

How wearisome to hear thy blistering sounds in the wind
To malt my hairy pane for thy wanton sympathies
Chafing my appetites to thy passive commands
Whilst bathing in the moonlight of thy bloodbath

How cruel-some to fall amiss in thy absent sounds
To scratch the pavements thou hast walked on
To feel reborn through thy ashes
And face a new dawn, without you in it!

Δευτέρα, 27 Σεπτεμβρίου 2010

My boys love me so
With flowers they dress me gold
My boys respect me so
With slow moods and easy to let go

My boys speak to me in earnest
With words of truth they finish their sentence
My boys seek the universe of men
With theories they shower their minds on end

My boys in pleasure they are wide open
With adventure for their mentor to guide them over
My boys dive in sincerity when human hearts are willing to fall [for them]
With nature to boot beyond any price of a treasure golden

My boys age by the minute
Pain swallows them but preservation watches over them
My boys some day will flee
For other lands, for other partners, for other dreams

My boys cuddle my philosophy
In cars they like to drive with me
My boys are spontaneous like the wind
And just like that they are become birds and vanish in a bleep!

One in the West, One in the Shadows,
One in the Mists, One in the Woods,
One in the Money, One in his Moods,
One in his Lust, One in his Universe,
One in Loneliness, One in his Innocence

My boys love me so,
They do nothing wrong
My boys love me so,
And I am no more!

Παρασκευή, 20 Αυγούστου 2010

Birth Day March

Birth Day March

The black eyed maid grasped hope in the middle of the abyss
Dressed in moonlight that golden starry night of bliss
Kingdoms fled and chaos spread in her wings
For all the ghosts of the past have finally gone amiss
Honesty belonged to her wicked senses of tenderness
And all the passions within her roared and heaved in her caress
Oceans of phantoms shipwrecked in her dreams for years
Blasting the walls of flesh, for pleasure was her wish
Parting hid in its inevitability of a secret mournful kiss
For lovers fear to live the grand passions of the East!

For this day the ass angel opened the doors of heaven
To let light in, like myriad times before the witchdoctors closed the lanterns
The magnanimity of her microcosm shuddered in the oceans of hope
For drowning sparkled more feasible within her bones
Sizzling narrow-mind labyrinths have tortured her since she was a babe
A sea of tears showed her nothing but hollow roads and the mask of the cruel Fate
‘Twas time to sequester the old tales of eternity and hope
For evil had disguised itself to her in forms of promised love
The better was yet unknown to her ineffable fantasies
Yet the blooming drew nearer with her marching birth days!

Παρασκευή, 23 Ιουλίου 2010

Fair Passage

even if my bridges have been mapped out
even if the sunshine slumber at my two left feet
I will still smell your memories in my path
I will still weep for thy skewered appetite of lust

I promised to spoon out the rasberries of my heart
and bellow to the gutted fish growing inside me
while you will swing in the wedding daze
while your vows extol hymns of illusion

erosion of a fruitful mind is at hand
whilst the bridal sweets, honey out thy forbearance
My owned allegiance in the barbarian hordes
Shudders thy flesh and your heart's humaine flaws

For why the decision was sealed on thee
When offers of nothingness were made in thee
While blisters were presented as gifts for thy love
And shame and vanity are leading your path

Agony will be my master in thy wedded bliss
Bloody flowers will bathe me in your foreign love-making

Always Forget

always the same
always in pain
always so plain
always insane

forget to kiss
forget to breathe
forget to sleep
forget to weep

always the same
always in game
always in fame
always in pray

forget to draw
forget the straw
forget to ball
forget to grow

always the same
always in taste
always too late
always mundane

forget to repeat
forget to weave
forget to cease
forget to live

always the same
always never again
always in pain
always too, but too late!

Small Passions

The little pieces of me
I desire for thee to love
My small fleshy details
I want thee to cherish
The essence of my spirit
For your pleasure to adore
The core of my exotic fruit
To melt your delactables tastes
When the two pulses
Erupt into one unision of hedonism
When the blood flows the same
The mind will be one with the heart
Every trace on me
For your pleasure exists
To keep them for your shrine
To mould them and gaze at them
The small pieces on me
For you to relish and ravish
With thy mighty strength
And tiger's pulse to shred
With thy eagle arms to shelter
With thy lion's groan to surrender
Lips like velvet rose petals
And a fleshy glow to burn mine eyes
The heat waves of my unawakened flesh
Find thy magnetism blinding to mine soul
My unaware heart was barred for life
From thy barbarian sultriness
Forcing this Celtic beast
Yield to an ethereal flower
A sinful imprinting on a no where passion
An abundance of hopeless feelings
Will be my deathly warranty
For letting me loving thee
My small traces will fade in eternity
My little passions will melt away in infinity
Thou shalt never taste the tiny bits of me
Thou shalt never come to know my every inch of flesh
Thou shalt stay stranger to my physical materials
Thou shalt never acquaint thyself with my small passions.

Infinite Memorandum

A few more lies
Have dressed up for disguise
A few more moments
In error they have caved in
A jar of hope broke
The emptiness flowed in the room
Those lies are witches
Past leaders that conquer the present
Those lies have befriended corruption
They have danced with greed and madness
Swirled around the world’s daisies
And poisoned infants in the dreams
The jar of hope bended down to slavery
And broke for humanity…
A few more lies will fill the emptiness
And loneliness becomes the Medea Queen
The Mother of Chaos in Kingdom come
Will drive the jars of profanity in line
And drive a stake to the faithful
The Mother of Madness will lead to the Fall
The guardians will be the Daggers
Honesty will embroider her silk Veil
Paint the Mortal Lips with Blood
And the jars will be filled with Resistance
Jeopardize their human innocence
For the Halt is Nigh
…for the cold is night
Such as the Warm beasts will conquer
And shed a red river for the Frozen
Memory shall have her trail painted
Carved in the history papers
And Infinity shall consume all
…and despair none living thing, no more!

Τετάρτη, 7 Ιουλίου 2010

Ερωτευμένος Νόμος

Κάποια ρόδα αναστενάζουν
Ξαστεριά σα πέφτει
Κι ο νόμος καλπάζει
Με τα ουράνια να του φωνάζουν

Η βουβή μήτρα ξενυχτά
Τα αστέρια κοιτά καρτερικά
Μάτια του νόμου αναζητά
Που ταξιδεύουν σε της το νοτιά
Γιομάτα με αίμα και κλαδιά
Γιομάτα με όνειρα και κλειδιά
Μέσα σε πελάγη πλέουν τα φαντάσματα τα μικρά
Ξεπλένοντας τη ντροπή από την αγάπη τη παλιά

Τα κλαδιά του νόμου έφτασαν κι εδώ
Σε αχανής δρόμους με ονόματα και όρους
Τα μάτια της αστραπής έγειραν στον ύπνο τον απλό
Σαν ξεχάστηκαν να παλέψουν για της πικρούς νόμους
Σαν λάμψη απρόσμενη αποκαλύπτεται ξανά
Ο βαρύς ο νόμος του ήλιο μέσα από τα σύννεφα

Τα χείλη τα ροδαλά
Που τόσο πολύ φοβούνται τα όνειρα
Που τόσο τα ποθούν τα λιοντάρια
Τα χείλη τα σκοτεινά

Ο νόμος είναι γραμμένος στη πέτρα του Βορρά
Και με λαμπάδες παίζει τα πρωινά
Της Μαργαριταρένιες Πύλες άγρυπνος καρτερά
Το δαχτυλίδι της ένωσης να δέσει Παντοτινά

Το Όνειρο του Πάνα

Κι’ αν εγώ θέλω να γύρω
Με μυριάδες καλέσματα να σε νανουρίσω
Με χιλιάδες τρόπους να σε φιλήσω
Κι αν η ζωή ετούτη πλάστηκε για σε
Αν το κορμί μορφώθηκε για μια ντροπή
Αν τα χείλη καρτερικά σε κλαίνε
Τον νόμο τον σκληρό τον απωθούν και τον καίνε
Αν τα μάτια μου μαργαριτάρια σε γεμίζουν
Κρυφά κάτω από τις λεύκες
Μελώματα ανοιξιάτικα σε ποτίζουν
Μικρά διαμάντια λόγου σου χαρίζουν
Που δειλά θα μείνουνε στα σκοτεινά
Τα γράμματα μου, αγάπη μου, που δε τα θέλει η καρδιά
Ένα μαργαριτάρι να δένει το δάχτυλο σου
Ένας σοφός δεσμός να σε μπερδεύει στον ύπνο σου
Κι αν εγώ δε σε θέλω να ζεις μέσα μου…
Κι αν η όψη σου έχει γίνει προσβολή για μένα
Αν τα όνειρα μου φέρνουνε το στήθος σου στο δικό μου
Και αν τα μαύρα μαλλιά μου αγκαλιάζουν το πόνο σου
Αν όλα αυτά δεν έφθιναν στη καρδιά μου
Κι αν όλα δεν ήταν ένα αχανές όνειρο…
Τότε τα φιλιά σου θα ήταν δικά μου
Και η σάρκες θα ήταν η ένωση μας
Το μυαλό η ώθηση μας,
Η καρδιά η αιωνιότητα μας.
Μα τα φιλιά, η σάρκα, η καρδιά είναι νεφέλες
Αστάρτες του Βορρά…
Προγραμματισμένες για την δικιά σου ένωση
…με άλλα μαργαριτάρια, άλλης καρδιάς.

Τρίτη, 22 Ιουνίου 2010


Βαθιά Ψυχή

Και συ μια μνήμη κενή
Μια σκιά τρυφερή
Μια ψυχρή ωδή
Μια φουσκωμένη όαση

Τα μάτια ρέουν ντροπή
Για πόθο αιχμής
Ερωτευμένη σιωπή
Μένει στα όρια βουβή

Κυβερνιέσαι από άλλο πλανήτη
Κουβαλιέσαι με υπόσταση
Στο δικό μου το σπίτι
Περπατώντας με γυμνή ψυχή

Θα σβήσει το μυαλό τη μνήμη
Η καρδιά θα κλαίει σαν Αριάδνη
Για τα μάτια και τη καρδιά τη φωτεινή
Που ποτέ δικιά της δε θα γίνει

Εσύ ένα δέντρο με καρπούς
Εγώ ένας θάμνος με στεναγμούς
Εσύ ανθισμένος ήλιος της Αυγής
Εγώ ποτισμένο φαρμάκι της Γης

Μακριά από μένα, Φτερωτέ!
Μακριά από τη καρδιά μου τη μαύρη…
Πριν πέσω σε φεγγαρόφωτους ωκεανούς
Θα βυθίσω τη θύμηση σου στους επτά ουρανούς

Μακριά βαθιά ψυχή
Δε βαστάει η νεκρή υπομονή
Τσουρουφλίστηκε η βαθιά τιμή,
Για να σε αφήσει πίσω η ερωτευμένη μου πνοή.

Πέμπτη, 10 Ιουνίου 2010

Band of Bonds

Band of Bonds

A decomposing wanton shadow that I may be
Thy absence pending on my folly dreams

Narrow escapism from the bloody gap of our existence
Chaos comes and hangs on Lanterns of our Distance

Forever our eyes shall glitter our Darkness
Distilment of our perfume will flee into the Heavens.

Forever mine thou shalt not in real time be
For 'twas too late my arrival in thy present that came to be

Amongst the ghastly shadows this yearn of mine shall live
Plundering in false eluded imagery of our bestial love-making

Thy truth combined in my hollow dreamy figurines, will always weep
Thine passion in my Redness will always find shelter in the Misty Sleep

Do not forgot to call for me in life beyond our human Destiny
When ashes thy spirit shall become, fly for me in the gaping Deep

And yet..tis too early an hour to cry so shamelessly
For passions bent by human apostrophe

Indulge my pale merits and place a signature upon my grave
When time shall come and our spirit lose their way...

Μια σκηνή και Μια Πόρτα

Μια σκηνή και Μια Πόρτα

Κηλιδωμένα πνεύματα τους Θρόνους εξουσιάζουν
Αποσταγμένα νεύματα στην Τέχνη απουσιάζουν

Κρυστάλλινα μυαλά μαυρίζουν στη Κόκκινη Καρέκλα
Οργιασμένα μυστικά πλημμυρίζουν το συνθλιμμένο σπίτι

«Φωνή βοώντος εν τη ερήμο» εκουράστηκε να υπάρχει
Ψεύτικες δημιουργίες να επιπλέουν στα άβουλα μας άγχη

Δοσμένες ψυχές να σέρνονται σαν στενόμυαλες μαριονέτες
Φουσκωμένα όνειρα να γεύονται των φτωχών τις τσέπες

Βολοδέρνουν και ορμούν τα γυφτάκια των Ασύδοτων δρόμων
Μαζεύουν τα άψυχα υλικά της Κρύας Εξουσίας των απανθρώπων

Οι στάχτες φέρνουνε πληγές και χάσμα της καρδιάς
Ψίθυροι ξυπνούνε στα σκοτεινά κι’ αναζητούνε σαρκική συντροφιά

Κόκκοι εμπιστοσύνης αποδημούν παντοτινά, από τη βία να ξεφύγουν
Αιώνια συντροφιά τελειώνει στα αμαρτωλά Δικαστήρια του Άδικου Ύπνου

Μα λες και ξαναλές ότι όλα πράσινα θα γίνουν
Και απ’ το πολύ πετρέλαιο στη Κόλαση μας όλα και μαυρίζουν

Άξεστοι αδαής φαγάδες μου, που κάνετε εκπτώσεις στη ψυχή σας
Φωνάξτε με σαν θα σας κατασκευάσουν το μνήμα του πνεύματος σας

Ησυχία και γνώση είναι η λύτρωση αυτού του Θείου Δώρου
Μάτια αμόλυντα μακριά να μένουν από τη Ρύπανση του Θείου Βέλζεβουβ!

Phillip Wesley - The Approaching Night

Παρασκευή, 4 Ιουνίου 2010

Στάχτες των...

Στάχτες οι πύρινες μικρές στιγμές μας
Στάχτες τα ανύπαρκτα φυλακτά της ψυχής μας
Φλόγες που έπλεαν σαν μανιασμένα φτερωτά καράβια
Μας βύθισαν στο θυμό και την λαγνεία.
Κατακρεουργήσαμε την ουσία του χρόνου μας
Πετάξαμε τα τετριμμένα μοιρολόγια της υποχρέωσης
...και απλά λυγίσαμε...
Σαν Φοίνικες της Σιωπής...λαβωθήκαμε
Τα κύτταρα μας που αλλοιώθηκαν
Σ' ένα απαράδεκτο πάθος
Τώρα πια έχουν φύγει για τ' αλλού...
Στάχτες τα αστέρια μας
Στάχτες και οι σκιές μας,
Που δεν πρόλαβαν να ζεσταθούν..
Που το καθήκον δεν τα άφησε να επιβληθούν
Και να τώρα ένα τοσοδούλικο συναίσθημα εκκρεμεί σαν τον ουράνιο Κύκνο...
Η στάχτη μου μίλησε γι' αυτό...
Το είπε 'αγάπη'...
Λες και ο ήχος της μόνο στην αιώνια φυλακή θα σε βυθίσει.
Οι στάχτες μας θα γεράσουν...
Και η ανθρώπινη μας αδυναμία θα λιγοστεύει με κάθε Δύση...
Και'γω που δε πρόλαβα να αγαπήσω την κάθε ίντσα του κορμιού σου
Έχω μείνει εδώ...
Και καρτερικά καταριέμαι την ανούσια αρετή της προσμονής
Και ανούσια φυλάω τις στιγμές μου
Για τις μικρές μας στάχτες
Και ανούσια αναλώνομαι στα όνειρα σου
Και ανούσια ακροβατώ στην ξεδιάντροπη ψυχεδέλεια σου
Οι στάχτες μας έχουν μείνει στον Πατέρα Ωκεανό
Που πεισματικά θα μας χωρίζει μέχρι τ' ανθρώπινο μας τέλμα
Οι στάχτες μας κλαίνε για Οργασμό
Καθώς βυθίζονται σ' ένα αγέρωχο ψέμα
Στάχτες μας τα υπέροχα λάθη της καρδιάς
Στάχτες το υπέροχο τίποτα μας
Κραυγές καρδιάς θα μας συνοδεύουν σαν Μούσες πάντα στα Σκοτεινά
Κραυγές ψυχής θα μας καρτερούν για μια μόνο βραδιά
Εραστές που δεν υπάρχουν, το μελάνι είχε γράψει για μας
Φιλήδονοι που δεν θα ζήσουν τη πορεία τους.
Φυλακισμένα πουλιά, σε φυλακισμένα σώματα θα εξελιχθούν
Και οι μικρές τους επιθυμητές ακολασίες, στάχτες θα γεννούν.
Στάχτες είμαστε κι' εσύ κι' εγώ
Στο θρόνο του Θεού Θανάτου θα πλαστούν τα κορμιά μας με το καιρό
Και φόβοι θα μας προστατεύουν στο απόλυτο μας κενό.. ..
Στάχτες γίναμε κι' εσύ κι' εγώ...
Μα τη λέξη τη μικρή στα όνειρα μου κάθε βράδυ σαν προσευχή μας την κρατώ.. ..


Πέμπτη, 6 Μαΐου 2010

Jason Mraz - I'm yours

...I'm yours... :)

Colbie Caillat - Bubbly

:) :) :)...warm fuzzy feelings!

Ωδή στον Χτύπο της Καρδιάς

Χτύπος μιας καρδιάς
Μουδιάζει τη μαυρίλα μου
Φωνές άσπρες που με κάλυψαν
Κραυγές μαύρες που με έσφαξαν.

Τα συγγνώμη άλλαξαν μορφές
Από ηλιοτρόπια σε παγόβουνα,
Από αθώα φεγγάρια
Σε τυραννικούς Ήλιους.

Η τρύπα μέσα στη θάλασσα μου πονεί
Πέταλα μαδάει η καρδιά
Για ανθρώπινους ήρωες αδημονεί,
Τα ψίχουλα μαζεύει στην ακρογιαλιά.

Ο χτύπος της καρδιάς με καρτερεί
Σαν ξεθωριασμένο νανούρισμα.
Το προσκλητήριο θανάτου της
Ένα ολοκαύτωμα ψυχής.

Βουίζει το σκαθάρι με οργή,
Και ανατέλλει η σιωπή στα πρόσωπα μας,
Καταρράκτες οργίων είναι τα μελλούμενα ,
Κοίμηση αθώων τα ζητούμενα.

Κι ο χτύπος τη καρδιάς σου εκεί•
Να μου μοιράζει πετιμέζια,
Να ξεδιψάω στα δικά σου πόδια,
Να με κοιμίζει αιώνια.

Σάββατο, 1 Μαΐου 2010


Απόψε τα αστέρια θα με συγχωρέσουν
Γιατί θα πάψω να υποκρίνομαι
Ότι ζω με την ανοιχτή πληγή που μου έπλεξες
Τόσο αόρατα, με τόση μαεστρία

Επτασφράγιστο μυστικό
Ετούτη η απόσταση από τη ζωή
Που με σημάδεψε τη μέρα του αντίο σου

Κλέψε τις δακρυσμένες μου ματιές
Και δώσε το κλειδί μας
Στις Σειρήνες που σε προστατεύουν

Να υψώσεις τη μαύρη σημαία
Που θα ζητωκραυγάζει το τέλος
Της μικρής ανόητης Ελπίδας
Της μικρής τοσοδούλας.

Και σα το φέρετρο θα υψώνεται
Τα ξόρκια σου να κάψεις
Τη θάλασσα να μοιράσεις στα δυο
Τα άσπρα σου όνειρα
Το χρώμα της πίκρας θα χαρούν.

Ode to the Bred-Winner Figure

Forget me not, he softly whispered
Forgive me always, his ego blistered

The game was quit, in our cold embrace
The bond was ripped, from the fire-eyes escape

You grew me up, like a seagull does its young
The rights and wrongs, to avoid in a storm

When tempests came, and disturbed my slumber
Your lights bedazzled my pathways that were under

No Hades more fierce than our mighty will
No better Stallion to work us out from our Dreams

Mentor of Despite you drew your shadow to Be
With neglect to share thy Ropes with Generosity

My Father, always proud and shamed
Thy pain, my sorrow, thy hate, my aim

Another day unseized in thy pallid routine
Thy nightmares are prolonged by the bred-winning schemes

My heart shall Travel abroad without Us
And when I’m laid cold, I remember to Forgive Us…

Κυριακή, 11 Απριλίου 2010

Five-Pence Monologue

Poppies whirl in my head
Lears howl like a bad romance
Absent Moor in opium they swim
Green Iagos fall in smelly beds

Odours of blood react at politicians’ words
Brothers grovel for success between the worms
The years of a strong ecstasy haunt us
A passion of Pluto has gone above us

No lover stays angelic
Hell reigns all bodies
Buttered flowers are psychedelic
Abrasive and snide movements marry our toys

~for the White Moor…~

Τρίτη, 9 Μαρτίου 2010

Allo enna Kypriako Thyma

Eshi tora kati meres pou arkepsa nea douleia pisw stin home country patrida mou, tin Cyprus, pano sto field mou...je epellane i kkelle mou! Oi mono ekaman me mesa se mia vdomada na sixatho jino pou me poli kopo je xrima espoudasa, alla toso polla apivdisa pou arkepsa je anarwthkioume ti sto kalo kamnw me ti zoi mou, je an en touto me to opoio thelo na asxolitho.

E oi sior! En tha me kamoun na vlastimiso tin ora pou eksanapatisa to poi mou se touto kwloniso, kapoioi asxtetoi je akaliergitoi me to etsi thelo. O tziris mou eftyse gema gia na piaso ego jino to kwloxarto pou eseis metaxeirizeste to san xarti gia to skato sas. Je oi to xarti mou en egrafe Master pano sto plysimo potirkon k strosimo mesimerianou fagitou gia na xortasei o jilios tou kathe kapitalisti mastrou, pou tosa xronia sto epaggelma to mono pou emathe einai pos na faei pou ton kathe mikro thyma!

Oi re ttoppouzoi! Ego en tha geno to thyma kanenos, je jino to kwloxarto ego enna to timiso me mia k mono apli praksi...Piss off...Sta 8 atrofika mou, je kseoroun alloi sto eksoteriko na ektimisoun tin aksia tou kwloxartou mou, pou oi mono en tha mou zitoun na tous kamw espresso je kypriako kafe to proi all enna mou kamnoun je buy to launch mou!

So in other words...go f**** yourselves...Ego allona katapiesmo kypriako gynaikeio vlimma en tha geno, gia na trossin kapoioi alloi pou loou mou!!!
So tired...so alone...so uninspired of working on a job which i was taught to love but which it offers me no motivation, no consolation, no evolution and progression..

Afraid to step into the emptiness...afraid of stepping out of the comfort zone...afraid of excelling in the one department which was meant for me.

I can be great, i can be grand, in the jungle of my tongue.

Re....ekourastika to kolomentality sas, to asxeto professionalism sas, k tin idiotropia kai tin kakogoustia sas! Bugger off, Get a life...there's a grand world that you don't know, who's ignoring your petty little lives!

Πέμπτη, 4 Μαρτίου 2010

Media Box Poems

2nd March 2010

My love like a red river of fire
Ghastly and flabbergasted in desire

Driving the reins with no compass for hire
The dark welcomes me in like a mother on the wire

Erase and elude the laws that were strapped in
The mind is nothing but rubber for everyone’s will

Engorged and exposed in travels of mythological thieves
Fighting hell whilst the hounds lurk in

My Queen has deserted the democratic dream
And a lowly Elizabeth hungers for raspberries to eat

Satisfaction and impulse are softly suppressed in here
The writer again seeks another imperialistic spot to fill

Unteach yourself the histories of Nations of Steel
There no resolution without obsession and obesity

My patriarchal Lover shall soon vaporise in the illiterate East
You Fool! You shall always be a slave to Fortune’s Wheel.


4th March 2010

Frightened little child that speaks no more
Forgot to tell the lies that her nuns bespoke

Powerful image in your gonads amuses the average
Pacify the nurtured mind of a magician of Stone Age

My Muse bathed in blood this late evening
To wash off my touch which glorified her leavings

Ruined in chaos and ruined no more
The daunting separation of intertwined souls

Butcher our eyes that part in fall
Fading out our disguise for the power of porn

Mistaken blessings tip-toe behind our mind-yards
Dressing our lives with insignificant black ballads

Unsharpen our prison to escape the deep blue
The beast which follows us will soon bruise

In forged letters I keep you still
My ruler of ruin, our love shall never cease.

Πέμπτη, 25 Φεβρουαρίου 2010

“ The rest of your life is a long time and whether, you know it or not it's being shaped right now. You can choose to blame your circumstances on fate or bad luck or bad choices, or you can fight back. Things aren't always going to be fair in the real world, that's just the way it is, but for the most part you get what you give. Let me ask you all a question. What's worse: not getting everything you wished for or getting it but finding out it's not enough? The rest of your life is being shaped right now with the dreams you chase, the choices you make and the person you decide to be. The rest of your life is a long time and the rest of your life starts right now ”

Τρίτη, 23 Φεβρουαρίου 2010

Jacques Briel - Ne Me Quitte Pas

I am

I am
by John Clare

I am: yet what I am none cares or knows,
My friends forsake me like a memory lost;
I am the self-consumer of my woes,
They rise and vanish in oblivious host,
Like shades in love and death's oblivion lost;
And yet I am! and live with shadows tost

Into the nothingness of scorn and noise,
Into the living sea of waking dreams,
Where there is neither sense of life nor joys,
But the vast shipwreck of my life's esteems;
And e'en the dearest--that I loved the best--
Are strange--nay, rather stranger than the rest.

I long for scenes where man has never trod;
A place where woman never smil'd or wept;
There to abide with my creator, God,
And sleep as I in childhood sweetly slept:
Untroubling and untroubled where I lie;
The grass below--above the vaulted sky.

Joanna Newsom - This side of the Blue

~~sometimes things need to switch off, for people to switch on~~

Μούσα 22

Σαν να πέθαναν τα πέταλα τ’ αγέρωχα
Σαν να με ξεθάβουν δέκα παγωμένα τέρατα

Μολυσμένο αέρα με τάισαν τα λόγια τα απίστευτα
Μέσα στις άθλιες τις σιωπές κόπηκαν τα φιλικά.

Μες τις αισχρές πεολειχίες σου στα σκοτάδια του ανδρισμού του τα μάτια μου να βλέπεις
Το χαμόγελο και τη φωνή μου στις σαρκικές σου εξαλώτητες στο μυαλό σου να τις έχεις

Μες τα ζοφερά γαμήσια σου την ανάσα μου να νιώθεις
Τη μαχαιρωμένη μου καρδιά μες τις Ερινύες σου να χώσεις.

Αφέντρα δολιότητας με μάσκα από μαύρο μετάξι σε σκεπάζει
Βαβυλώνια πουτάνα που το θείο συναίσθημα χλευάζει

Καρφιά χορεύουν στον τραχύ λαιμό μου
Τα δίκαια παλεύουν για εξέγερση προς το φιδίσιο πρόσωπο σου

Πέτρες καταράστηκα τον γλυκό ύπνο να σου δώσουν
Με εμφάνιση Μέδουσας στον Άδη να σε εκδώσουν

Άσπρη τυραννία τα φονικά φιλιά σου
Τη προσευχή θανάτου τους κυνηγώ να σαπίσει τα σωθικά τους.

Μάγισσα σε γνώρισα και φίδι προφητείας σε αφήνω
Μπάσταρδη ψυχή με γύμνωσες με το αίμα μου να χύνω.

Τσούλα της σιωπής στην αρχαιότητα δώρο ερημικό σε στέλνω
Άλλες άσπρες ψυχές από τα σύννεφα στον Μαύρο Αρχάγγελο να προσκυνήσουν.

Η μοναξιά σε καρτερεί πεισματικά στο τέλος του δρόμου
Σαλώμη στιγμιαίας ηδονής την απληστία σου θα πουλάς στα χαντάκια του Νόμου.

Σταφύλια της Ντροπής τη σάρκα σου χαϊδεύουν
Φόνισσα πίστης τα πλοκάμια σου όλο και θα συνεχίσουν να μικραίνουν.

~to all the snake-friends who are out there, for without their existence there would be no room for me to progress, improve and grow up to be a better person....so thank you BITCHES!~

Three Lovers

They stand in the corner
their eyes raped by fear and lust
forgetting whom they chose to left behind
And a vast ocean for them is now open

The gay death flirts with their life-lines
The disgust smells in their fingers
And the impossible ecstasy now is theirs
Phasing out the passion from their lives

Look upon me, when his mouth you kiss
Smell me on his chest like a cheap drink
Cry for me the moment you blow him
And confess it to the Universe, that you once loved me!

Κυριακή, 14 Φεβρουαρίου 2010

Bacchus Erupted

Bacchus Erupted

Now on this day the seal was forged
For broken windows and lips unknown
The distant lands explored in awe
The galloping hordes the ecstasies hold

My father escaped the day of Love
To march with his pride and throw petals of Heart
The wanton desires to unleash in his path
They prey swim like ants to a trough

The wife, her eyes with golden ornaments filled
The Dionysian pleads in her body to drink
The wine of Vermouth to suckle like a child
The inflaming acts to spread in the Red sky

Bacchus, oh my Luscious God!
The lustre madness in my human brain grows
Dancing the paganism of the Aphrodisia Night
The ground eluding the Carnal Carnival in Flare.

Σάββατο, 13 Φεβρουαρίου 2010

Nightmare of a Butterfly

Claustrophobic lips escape
My darkness of madness
Feathers of a phony betrayal
Colouring the cloak named ‘life’

What knowledge brings in a lonely river
Truth has frozen into an alternative reality
I seek a light of a warm embrace
I end up feeling venomous tonight

Dark shades of blue my best friend again
The serpent has spread its poison again
Leaving a vacancy of touch in me
Shaping the reality with my ordinality

Transgressions penetrate the mind again
The touch of the friendly hand was shattered again
No human fire to burden the misty suspicions
Only desire of cut the cord of this vein

Black veil wears me in the evenings
A widow moulded for an empty life party
The letter of love words was thrown in the gutter of pain
Let this child breath the joy of, again!

Σάββατο, 6 Φεβρουαρίου 2010

Μονάκριβε μου…

Μονάκριβε μου ταξιδιώτη
Γλυκύτατε μου που μες τη μοναξιά σου ζεις
Παρθένα μάτια πεθυμάς στη κόλαση σου
Μονάκριβε μου αετέ…

Ταφόπλακα μικρή σου χτίσαν οι λαοί
Μα η καρδιά μου εκτάσεις σου χαρίζει
Πάρ’ τα φιλιά με φλόγα και θυμό
Κοιμήσου το Αυγέρη το χλωμό

Μονάκριβε μου καβαλάρη
Γλυκύτατο μου φως μες το σκοτάδι
Τη θρυμματισμένη καρδιά μου μάζεψε
Και με τα κομμάτια πάστα για την όρεξη σου φτιάξε!

~Για τον καθηγητή~

Παρασκευή, 5 Φεβρουαρίου 2010

J.K.Rowling : The Fringe Benefits of Failure, and the Importance of Imagination

President Faust, members of the Harvard Corporation and the Board of Overseers, members of the faculty, proud parents, and, above all, graduates.

The first thing I would like to say is ‘thank you.’ Not only has Harvard given me an extraordinary honour, but the weeks of fear and nausea I have endured at the thought of giving this commencement address have made me lose weight. A win-win situation! Now all I have to do is take deep breaths, squint at the red banners and convince myself that I am at the world’s largest Gryffindor reunion.

Delivering a commencement address is a great responsibility; or so I thought until I cast my mind back to my own graduation. The commencement speaker that day was the distinguished British philosopher Baroness Mary Warnock. Reflecting on her speech has helped me enormously in writing this one, because it turns out that I can’t remember a single word she said. This liberating discovery enables me to proceed without any fear that I might inadvertently influence you to abandon promising careers in business, the law or politics for the giddy delights of becoming a gay wizard.
You see? If all you remember in years to come is the ‘gay wizard’ joke, I’ve come out ahead of Baroness Mary Warnock. Achievable goals: the first step to self improvement.

Actually, I have wracked my mind and heart for what I ought to say to you today. I have asked myself what I wish I had known at my own graduation, and what important lessons I have learned in the 21 years that have expired between that day and this.

I have come up with two answers. On this wonderful day when we are gathered together to celebrate your academic success, I have decided to talk to you about the benefits of failure. And as you stand on the threshold of what is sometimes called ‘real life’, I want to extol the crucial importance of imagination.

These may seem quixotic or paradoxical choices, but please bear with me.
Looking back at the 21-year-old that I was at graduation, is a slightly uncomfortable experience for the 42-year-old that she has become. Half my lifetime ago, I was striking an uneasy balance between the ambition I had for myself, and what those closest to me expected of me.
I was convinced that the only thing I wanted to do, ever, was to write novels. However, my parents, both of whom came from impoverished backgrounds and neither of whom had been to college, took the view that my overactive imagination was an amusing personal quirk that would never pay a mortgage, or secure a pension. I know that the irony strikes with the force of a cartoon anvil, now.

So they hoped that I would take a vocational degree; I wanted to study English Literature. A compromise was reached that in retrospect satisfied nobody, and I went up to study Modern Languages. Hardly had my parents’ car rounded the corner at the end of the road than I ditched German and scuttled off down the Classics corridor.

I cannot remember telling my parents that I was studying Classics; they might well have found out for the first time on graduation day. Of all the subjects on this planet, I think they would have been hard put to name one less useful than Greek mythology when it came to securing the keys to an executive bathroom.

I would like to make it clear, in parenthesis, that I do not blame my parents for their point of view. There is an expiry date on blaming your parents for steering you in the wrong direction; the moment you are old enough to take the wheel, responsibility lies with you. What is more, I cannot criticise my parents for hoping that I would never experience poverty. They had been poor themselves, and I have since been poor, and I quite agree with them that it is not an ennobling experience. Poverty entails fear, and stress, and sometimes depression; it means a thousand petty humiliations and hardships. Climbing out of poverty by your own efforts, that is indeed something on which to pride yourself, but poverty itself is romanticised only by fools.
What I feared most for myself at your age was not poverty, but failure.

At your age, in spite of a distinct lack of motivation at university, where I had spent far too long in the coffee bar writing stories, and far too little time at lectures, I had a knack for passing examinations, and that, for years, had been the measure of success in my life and that of my peers.
I am not dull enough to suppose that because you are young, gifted and well-educated, you have never known hardship or heartbreak. Talent and intelligence never yet inoculated anyone against the caprice of the Fates, and I do not for a moment suppose that everyone here has enjoyed an existence of unruffled privilege and contentment.

However, the fact that you are graduating from Harvard suggests that you are not very well-acquainted with failure. You might be driven by a fear of failure quite as much as a desire for success. Indeed, your conception of failure might not be too far from the average person’s idea of success, so high have you already flown.

Ultimately, we all have to decide for ourselves what constitutes failure, but the world is quite eager to give you a set of criteria if you let it. So I think it fair to say that by any conventional measure, a mere seven years after my graduation day, I had failed on an epic scale. An exceptionally short-lived marriage had imploded, and I was jobless, a lone parent, and as poor as it is possible to be in modern Britain, without being homeless. The fears that my parents had had for me, and that I had had for myself, had both come to pass, and by every usual standard, I was the biggest failure I knew.

Now, I am not going to stand here and tell you that failure is fun. That period of my life was a dark one, and I had no idea that there was going to be what the press has since represented as a kind of fairy tale resolution. I had no idea then how far the tunnel extended, and for a long time, any light at the end of it was a hope rather than a reality.

So why do I talk about the benefits of failure? Simply because failure meant a stripping away of the inessential. I stopped pretending to myself that I was anything other than what I was, and began to direct all my energy into finishing the only work that mattered to me. Had I really succeeded at anything else, I might never have found the determination to succeed in the one arena I believed I truly belonged. I was set free, because my greatest fear had been realised, and I was still alive, and I still had a daughter whom I adored, and I had an old typewriter and a big idea. And so rock bottom became the solid foundation on which I rebuilt my life.

You might never fail on the scale I did, but some failure in life is inevitable. It is impossible to live without failing at something, unless you live so cautiously that you might as well not have lived at all – in which case, you fail by default.

Failure gave me an inner security that I had never attained by passing examinations. Failure taught me things about myself that I could have learned no other way. I discovered that I had a strong will, and more discipline than I had suspected; I also found out that I had friends whose value was truly above the price of rubies.

The knowledge that you have emerged wiser and stronger from setbacks means that you are, ever after, secure in your ability to survive. You will never truly know yourself, or the strength of your relationships, until both have been tested by adversity. Such knowledge is a true gift, for all that it is painfully won, and it has been worth more than any qualification I ever earned.

So given a Time Turner, I would tell my 21-year-old self that personal happiness lies in knowing that life is not a check-list of acquisition or achievement. Your qualifications, your CV, are not your life, though you will meet many people of my age and older who confuse the two. Life is difficult, and complicated, and beyond anyone’s total control, and the humility to know that will enable you to survive its vicissitudes.

Now you might think that I chose my second theme, the importance of imagination, because of the part it played in rebuilding my life, but that is not wholly so. Though I personally will defend the value of bedtime stories to my last gasp, I have learned to value imagination in a much broader sense. Imagination is not only the uniquely human capacity to envision that which is not, and therefore the fount of all invention and innovation. In its arguably most transformative and revelatory capacity, it is the power that enables us to empathise with humans whose experiences we have never shared.

One of the greatest formative experiences of my life preceded Harry Potter, though it informed much of what I subsequently wrote in those books. This revelation came in the form of one of my earliest day jobs. Though I was sloping off to write stories during my lunch hours, I paid the rent in my early 20s by working at the African research department at Amnesty International’s headquarters in London.

There in my little office I read hastily scribbled letters smuggled out of totalitarian regimes by men and women who were risking imprisonment to inform the outside world of what was happening to them. I saw photographs of those who had disappeared without trace, sent to Amnesty by their desperate families and friends. I read the testimony of torture victims and saw pictures of their injuries. I opened handwritten, eye-witness accounts of summary trials and executions, of kidnappings and rapes.

Many of my co-workers were ex-political prisoners, people who had been displaced from their homes, or fled into exile, because they had the temerity to speak against their governments. Visitors to our offices included those who had come to give information, or to try and find out what had happened to those they had left behind.

I shall never forget the African torture victim, a young man no older than I was at the time, who had become mentally ill after all he had endured in his homeland. He trembled uncontrollably as he spoke into a video camera about the brutality inflicted upon him. He was a foot taller than I was, and seemed as fragile as a child. I was given the job of escorting him back to the Underground Station afterwards, and this man whose life had been shattered by cruelty took my hand with exquisite courtesy, and wished me future happiness.

And as long as I live I shall remember walking along an empty corridor and suddenly hearing, from behind a closed door, a scream of pain and horror such as I have never heard since. The door opened, and the researcher poked out her head and told me to run and make a hot drink for the young man sitting with her. She had just had to give him the news that in retaliation for his own outspokenness against his country’s regime, his mother had been seized and executed.

Every day of my working week in my early 20s I was reminded how incredibly fortunate I was, to live in a country with a democratically elected government, where legal representation and a public trial were the rights of everyone.

Every day, I saw more evidence about the evils humankind will inflict on their fellow humans, to gain or maintain power. I began to have nightmares, literal nightmares, about some of the things I saw, heard, and read.

And yet I also learned more about human goodness at Amnesty International than I had ever known before.

Amnesty mobilises thousands of people who have never been tortured or imprisoned for their beliefs to act on behalf of those who have. The power of human empathy, leading to collective action, saves lives, and frees prisoners. Ordinary people, whose personal well-being and security are assured, join together in huge numbers to save people they do not know, and will never meet. My small participation in that process was one of the most humbling and inspiring experiences of my life.
Unlike any other creature on this planet, humans can learn and understand, without having experienced. They can think themselves into other people’s places.

Of course, this is a power, like my brand of fictional magic, that is morally neutral. One might use such an ability to manipulate, or control, just as much as to understand or sympathise.

And many prefer not to exercise their imaginations at all. They choose to remain comfortably within the bounds of their own experience, never troubling to wonder how it would feel to have been born other than they are. They can refuse to hear screams or to peer inside cages; they can close their minds and hearts to any suffering that does not touch them personally; they can refuse to know.

I might be tempted to envy people who can live that way, except that I do not think they have any fewer nightmares than I do. Choosing to live in narrow spaces leads to a form of mental agoraphobia, and that brings its own terrors. I think the wilfully unimaginative see more monsters. They are often more afraid.

What is more, those who choose not to empathise enable real monsters. For without ever committing an act of outright evil ourselves, we collude with it, through our own apathy.

One of the many things I learned at the end of that Classics corridor down which I ventured at the age of 18, in search of something I could not then define, was this, written by the Greek author Plutarch: What we achieve inwardly will change outer reality.

That is an astonishing statement and yet proven a thousand times every day of our lives. It expresses, in part, our inescapable connection with the outside world, the fact that we touch other people’s lives simply by existing.

But how much more are you, Harvard graduates of 2008, likely to touch other people’s lives? Your intelligence, your capacity for hard work, the education you have earned and received, give you unique status, and unique responsibilities. Even your nationality sets you apart. The great majority of you belong to the world’s only remaining superpower. The way you vote, the way you live, the way you protest, the pressure you bring to bear on your government, has an impact way beyond your borders. That is your privilege, and your burden.

If you choose to use your status and influence to raise your voice on behalf of those who have no voice; if you choose to identify not only with the powerful, but with the powerless; if you retain the ability to imagine yourself into the lives of those who do not have your advantages, then it will not only be your proud families who celebrate your existence, but thousands and millions of people whose reality you have helped change. We do not need magic to change the world, we carry all the power we need inside ourselves already: we have the power to imagine better.

I am nearly finished. I have one last hope for you, which is something that I already had at 21. The friends with whom I sat on graduation day have been my friends for life. They are my children’s godparents, the people to whom I’ve been able to turn in times of trouble, people who have been kind enough not to sue me when I took their names for Death Eaters. At our graduation we were bound by enormous affection, by our shared experience of a time that could never come again, and, of course, by the knowledge that we held certain photographic evidence that would be exceptionally valuable if any of us ran for Prime Minister.

So today, I wish you nothing better than similar friendships. And tomorrow, I hope that even if you remember not a single word of mine, you remember those of Seneca, another of those old Romans I met when I fled down the Classics corridor, in retreat from career ladders, in search of ancient wisdom:

As is a tale, so is life: not how long it is, but how good it is, is what matters.

I wish you all very good lives.

Thank you very much.



Ένας μικρός δήλος...

Μικρό άστεγο εκούρνιασε
Τα μάτια να σφαλίσει μες τη θύελλα
Τη ζεστασιά να νιώσει μες τη μοναξιά
Πουλί μικρής διάστασης να ξεχάσει πως ήταν

Οι μεγάλοι κι οι τύραννοι τον καταδίκασαν
Για γνώμες φιλελεύθερες που εξέφραζε στη σιωπή
Μόνο, ματωμένο και ατίθασο δεν του επέτρεψαν να μείνει
Γιατί μες το μικρό κλοιό τα όνειρα του δεν εχώρεσαν

Να φονεύσει το πνεύμα του δοκίμασε
Να γευτεί σαρκικές χαρές προσπάθησε
Μα ακόμα δε μπορεί να αποβάλλει τους φασιστικούς εφιάλτες
Και όλο του παρελθόν Ερινύες τον εξουσιάζουν

Όλα τα σκοτάδια του αγάπησε
Και τα τέρατα έχουν γίνει καλύτεροι του φίλοι
Μαδημένες μαργαρίτες με το αίμα του επότισε
Και με χυδαίο τρόπο γδέρνει τα άσπρα του τα χείλη

Σαν πηγάδι οι κόρες του εστέρεψαν
Και τα μαντάτα της κηδείας του τον χαροποίησαν
Αφού μες το γλυκό θάνατο τα αργύρια του τον έδωσαν
Για τα κόκκινα καζάνια που ήξερε πως θα τον έκλαιγαν

Ποιος λυπήθηκε για τους μικρούς ντροπαλούς του Κάτω Κόσμου
Με τις μεγάλες ιδέες τους και τα λίγα λόγια τους
Για τις πρόσκαιρες πράξεις τους και τα φοβισμένα φτερά τους
Που τους τα κλέψανε τα ψέματα της αθλιότητας, του ανθρώπινου Κόσμου;

~Για τον φοιτητή...~

Πέμπτη, 4 Φεβρουαρίου 2010

Life on a Wheel

Life to the end of the world
Moments of gasp ahead
Notes dancing in the clouds
Poetry marking its print

Anything becomes a vicissitude
Purple people clapping without clues
Growing in fear and stepping into the lava
Melodic unison acolytes the fun-trust

Like the river swimming in the stars
Like the dancing of keys of thy instrument
Like the genteel patience in my petals
This ethereal promise will illuminate this engagement

Pacify all our imitations and smile
Inflate the heart pump with modesty as shy
Ephemeral pleasures are circumcised affairs
Bound-ground circumstances of youth’s ideals

Life is at the end of this world
Moments that are caving in
Cork forced melodies on the green wall
Old language that strives to breathe.

JK Rowling: The fringe benefits of failure | Video on TED.com

JK Rowling: The fringe benefits of failure | Video on TED.com

Τετάρτη, 3 Φεβρουαρίου 2010

A Midnight Affair

Hopeless speech lies in bed this evening
Feathers softly covering the slumber with their breathing
Brothers fowlling the suicide midnight schemes
Carrying on thinking how Truth will grieve

A dream to have so gently in
In precious time our blury myths
The compass shall follow the monsters' fear
The mily pathway which came so near

A struggle and a voice embedded on our map
Like gospel for the weak to blindly start
The treasure hunt the clouds promised once
In search of the embrace and the broken touch

Engrave your honey lies on this body this evening
Colour up your fantasies with butterflies of science
Perform the sacriligeous red act, and forgive me
Make the incision dense with no care for this anguish!

Δευτέρα, 1 Φεβρουαρίου 2010

Dirty Pretty Things

Our body is our temple

...or so they say.

If it was so, then how do you explain plastic surgeons? How do you explain the materialistic plastic beauty we are sold on a daily basis by the media and how do you explain thongs, push-up bras and tuxedos in the middle of the desert?

All these might sound surrealistic and a bit too over the top, but it's quite true that people living in one of the developed or the developing countries in the world are victimized by fashion and by the media of what their image should be built on. In order to make an impression (for example) either in a new job environment or on a date there's a certain way you should present yourself...The in-style of the season is to look-natural-but-also-parade-your-many-skills-and-uncountable-talents-on-love-and-business-without-being-too-cocky-though.

We treat our "temple" like is a piece of material to be sold off to the highest bidder. Either for profession or for sex. What happened to the good old 'a healthy body is a healthy mind'? Why have we all become Angelina Jolie's lips, Megan Fox's thighs and Pam Anderson's boobs? Why even in sex do we like to have a bite of that plastic piece of body rather than appreciate what is simple and normal? Is looking good such a big deal...will it be such a bid deal at the end as well?

No, I'm not having a meltdown and I'm certainly not whinning for not having Monica Belluci's curves (although, okay they are amazing but still). Why can't everyone love their body just as it is, without beating it up daily ie.(by beating I mostly mean critisizing themselves from the moment they wake up till the moment they're passed out unconscious at night time).

Oooh and yes I know....women should be beautiful.It's in their nature to look gloss and near-perfect for men to enjoy their beauty. Newsflash. All women are ordinary. Wait till you see one of your favorite glam model without make-up or her anti-wrinkle cream on and you'll understand what I'm talking about. Also, (and guys brace yourselves)..WOMEN HAVE BODY HAIR TOO! It's our nature to have them, we were all made that way, besides the fact that since the dawn of time we live in a patriarchal society and we are being taught since our birth that, 'yes, women are ALMOST (watch that almost) perfect creatures in their image and should be as beautiful and as hairless as men desire them to be.

Beauty is ordinary. And to create an image of yourself just to create it for the sake of others, that's hardly a natural beauty.

All I know is this....be as you are. No gimmicks, no false eye lashes, no lipstic that can hardly be kissed by someone...No masks. Drop off that mask and see yourself in the sun. Glorify your natural you without any guilt. There is no shame on your normality...normal is mediocre, normal is simple, simple is the best!

Less is more!!!

Two shots of Happy, One shot of Sad

It's true that when weighing things out at one point in your life the things that seem to be standing out the most are moments of grief, pain and extreme anguish. Why?
Probably because of the insatiable need of human nature to withhold the fleeting sense of any joyous feeling. The unbearable reality of our existence lies in our need to survive, our yearn to go on, our ambition to persevere, the relinquishment of our vanity...

At this point I would like to reference a film which I have recently sat down and watched called the Invention of Lying (Ricky Gervais - 2009). The movie talked about a world where everyone was telling the truth. And I mean everyone; even your mom, your dad, your siblings, your friends, your blind dates, everyone from the bus boy to the mayor of the town. Imagine living in a world where fiction could not exist, where art was simply done in a way of documentation or a presentation of facts rather the structure of the fictional line. In a world like that there would be no human imagination, no human greed, no human depravity. Well, that's what you would think, wouldn't you? And yet in a world where no one could lie, people are bitchier with each other, taking what they want, when they want, disregarding any pain or hurt or embarrassment they might cause along the way. What really did left me surprised with this film is that even though humans lived in a world of 'lies-free', they were still the same ambitious as they are now. They may not lie to your face, but they were still "hungry" for power, for suitable procreation, pleasurable sexual encounters with partners that are "genetically right" for you etc.

And people, been the weakest link of all earth's sources not only cannot be pleased by the insatiable need to dominate and rule one another, they need someone in the sky to council them and advise them, sort of like try to keep them in line. Hence, we have 'The-Man-In-The-Sky'. The-Man-In-The-Sky is there to absolve us from all our sins right? He's there to tell us that even though we've stolen, hurt, raped or killed; if we repent we are forgiven yes? Well, no! There's a certain amount of "bad things" which you can do in order to be forgiven at the end. In the film that number equals to three "bad things". In life to how many does it equal to? I will not point to any possible answers but rather hope that everyone inside of them know their own limitations on how many "bad things" they can do to get the absolution they need, or they think they need, from The-Man-In-The-Sky.

Why all this blabbing again, you'll think? Well, let's just say that I've had enough of tasting my "two shots of happy and my one shot of sad" all the time, always feeling like I have to overcompensate my life with happy moments to disguise all the sadness hidden within. Let's just say that vanity is my worst enemy at the moment but in order for me to persevere I have to make amends and make it my best friend. The human nature was thus, and thus it shall always be...right? Let's just say that, I know that I cannot live in a world of lies-free, and I most certainly know that I will never live in a world ambition-free. But I can live in a world where happy moments surpass the sad ones...It's a matter of a person's choice the above statement. It's a matter of free-will. Well, The-Man-In-The-Sky, gave us free-will and we are accountable for our actions, and we are accountable for every shot of happiness or sadness that we receive in our lifetime.

Life's all about mixing the bitter and the sweet in the same cup of tea...don't you think?

Κυριακή, 31 Ιανουαρίου 2010

Pink Floyd - Wot's...Uh the Deal?


Remember me when I am gone
Gone far away into the silent land;
When you can no longer hold me by the hand,
Nor I half turn to go yet turning stay
Remember me when no more day by day
You tell me of our future that you planned:
Only remember me; you understand
It will be late to councel then or pray.
Yet if you should forget me for a while
And afterwards remember, do not grieve:
For if the darkness and corruption leave
A vestige of the thoughts that once I had,
Better by far you should forget and smile
Than that you should remember and be sad.

by Christina Rossetti

Like a Child

Everyone wants to feel like a child once again. Once grown up, once aware of all the things you realize that as a child you weren't aware of, you miss your innocence, your purity as a kid.

Remember those days were you could sit in the sun with friends and do the silliest things and play the silliest games and don't think or don't care about anything? Remember those blissful moments were nothing could touch you...even if something bad happen life seemed to go on a lot smoother than it does now.

I love my knowledge. I love the fact that now I can look at something and does make sense to me, one way or another...but in a hidden, darker corner of my heart I would be a liar if I didn't admit how I miss this innocence I had as a child. When I could play for hours in the front yard and I could sing and dance without feeling self-conscious, when I could express myself just like I wanted to without getting criticised or scolded or even frowned upon. I miss thinking that the world was just a gigantic maze of goodness, with people who want to make it all better, with people who hate depravity and fight for their dreams and ideals. I miss looking at boys and not thinking "oh he wants to fuck me" but I miss thinking "oh my god! maybe he wants us to be boyfriend and girlfriend!"

What happened to those days? And why does everything matter in such a big unexplainable way now? Why can't I surpass my cynicism, that suspicion in every friend and in every man I meet? Why does it always have to be like I feel that someone either wants to take advantage of me, break my heart, cheat on me (either professionally or emotionally), and disappoint me somehow? Is it always going to be like that from now on? And how much do I value this sense of my knowledge now, knowing that from now onwards life's always going to be filled with feelings of corruption, betrayal, disappointment, numbness, compromise, guilt and an eternal sorrow and depression which it won't go away?!?

"To feel like a child,
And stare up at the sky,
To bang the clouds with your imagination
And tolerate no provocation.
To hold the sunbeams with closed eyes
And wear no disguise,
To grasp the flowery odours with your nostrils
And paint yourself a portrait of nature full of rainbows.
To lie at your back with worries locked in a chest,
To capture the sound of the chirping birds.
To let innocence shine at your smile,
To feel warm with no lies to hide.
When will this feeling come again,
Why must it have gone away before it ever begun..."

Can we undo all this awareness once we grow up, can we just be adults in the society we were taught to survive and still try to hold on to those glimpses of our "days in the sun"?! Can we keep the images of fairies, miracles and dreams alive in a dead world, where everyone seems to be harrying away, seems too busy to care or spare a second to appreciate natural, instinctive feelings?!

How can I go back to falling in love with life again...when life itself seems to be kicking me in the nuts without doing anything harmful or socially bad?

Why can't I be a child still in a grown-up's body, without feeling ashamed or wrong for it? Why can't I feel like a child again without taking everything so seriously?
Why do we have to take anything so seriously...is it just because we have to?

All I know is that I know nothing...the more I know the more I realize how little I know...how much more little I would like to know...how little I am...how little I would like to be once again...

Πέμπτη, 28 Ιανουαρίου 2010

Wanting and not Having


Yes...it is sad when you have loved someone at some point in your life and you could not express it, you could not look them in the eye, for numerous reasons, and say those words which by impulse they come natural to you.

“Looking back, I have this to regret, that too often when I loved, I did not say so.” - Anonymous

A very good "I want him/her but I can't have him/her" quote. Don't you just hate that feeling when it happens to you? Wanting someone you simply cannot have for one reason or another?!?

I hate that feeling. And everytime it happens to me I hate myself for feeling this way. I hate having the feeling of unrequited "love", of this unrequited longing of wanting someone so much, that you think you'll burst if something else, something better doesn't come along.

The thing is to stay positive and go on. Be an optimist, even when you're not feeling like one.

Believing in people, still, even though you have been hurt so much that you think you don't have the time, the energy and the psychological strength to get hurt again...to try again.

But that feeling...the "wanting and not having" feeling has to be eliminated.

"In order to receive, you must find inner satisfaction.
Attract what you want to attract."

This wanting has got to stop. This sharp pain you feel when you see someone, when you speak to someone you want to suffocate with words of love and abundance when your paths cross...this feeling has to be stopped.

A vile feeling...insatiable feeling! I keep thinking that I won't feel it again, and maybe, maybe this time it will be different and I won't belong in the category of "wanting-and-not-having"... but everytime it seems I'm becoming one of the oldest members of that category.

Call me crazy, call me whinny, call me what you will. I hate the "unrequited feeling".

So many poets, artists, songwriters etc were influenced by this feeling to create. But I bet you, the moment they were feeling that they wanted someone that they simply couldn't have, they hated the fact that besides all life's other injustices, this is the cruellest injustice being done to them, because in love nothing and no one is in control...its like a pendulum hanging in the universe this thing....called love.

I'm not here to talk about "love" though. I'm here to talk about "wanting and not having". And to ask why does it have to happen over and over again, and when is it going to be my turn to finally have what or whom I desire, and why can't he/she love me or see that light in my eyes, feel this sense of belonging to them when I'm with them or talk to them?

Unrequited feeling...wanting and not having....

Many will say..."Boooo, you're such a pessimist."

I really am not. Not really. I think deep down I'm more of a cynic and a romantic together, than I am a pessimist. And even if your "universe" attracts finally someone into your arms, a different person than you were planning in the first place, there' still going to be that feeling that, 'yes, ok, i got someone in my life, but I never got that someone, my someone'.

So, the question remains....why can't I, for once, just once, have the one "I can't have"? Why do I have to want the one I can't have?

You can't Lose what you Neve Had by Westlife

Πέμπτη, 21 Ιανουαρίου 2010

Little Viennese Waltz

In Vienna there are ten little girls
a shoulder for death to cry on
and a forest of dried pigeons.
There is a fragment of tomorrow
in the museum of winter frost.
There is a thousand-windowed dance hall.

Ay, ay, ay, ay!
Take this close-mouthed waltz.

Little waltz, little waltz, little waltz,
of itself, of death, and of brandy
that dips its tail in the sea.

I love you, I love you, I love you,
with the armchair and the book of death
down the melancholy hallway,
in the iris's dark garret,
in our bed that was once the moon's bed,
and in that dance the turtle dreamed of.

Ay, ay, ay, ay!
Take this broken-waisted waltz

In Vienna there are four mirrors
in which your mouth and the echoes play.
There is a death for piano
that paints the little boys blue.
There are beggars on the roof.
There are fresh garlands of tears.

Aye, ay, ay, ay!
Take this waltz that dies in my arms.

Because I love you, I love you, my love,
in the attic where children play,
dreaming ancient lights of Hungary
through the noise, the balmy afternoon,
seeing sheep and irises of snow
through the dark silence of your forehead.

Ay, ay, ay ay!
Take this "I will always love you" waltz.

In Vienna I will dance with you
in a costume with a river's head.
See how the hyacinths line my banks!
I will leave my mouth between your legs,
my soul in photographs and lilies,
and in the dark wake of your footsteps,
my love, my love, I will have to leave
violin and grave, the waltzing ribbons.

~Frederico Garcia Lorca~

Take this Waltz

Take This Waltz
(After Lorca)

Now in Vienna there are ten pretty women.
There's a shoulder where death comes to cry.
There's a lobby with nine hundred windows.
There's a tree where the doves go to die.
There's a piece that was torn from the morning,
and it hangs in the Gallery of Frost --
Ay, ay ay ay
Take this waltz, take this waltz,
take this waltz with the clamp on its jaws.

I want you, I want you, I want you
on a chair with a dead magazine.
In the cave at the tip of the lily,
in some hallway where love's never been.
On a bed where the moon has been sweating,
in a cry filled with footsteps and sand --
Ay, ay ay ay
Take this waltz, take this waltz,
take its broken waist in your hand.

This waltz, this waltz, this waltz, this waltz
with its very own breath
of brandy and death,
dragging its tail in the sea.

There's a concert hall in Vienna
where your mouth had a thousand reviews.
There's a bar where the boys have stopped talking,
they've been sentenced to death by the blues.
Ah, but who is it climbs to your picture
with a garland of freshly cut tears?
Ay, ay ay ay
Take this waltz, take this waltz,
take this waltz, it's been dying for years.

There's an attic where children are playing,
where I've got to lie down with you soon,
in a dream of Hungarian lanterns,
in the mist of some sweet afternoon.
And I'll see what you've chained to your sorrow,
all your sheep and your lilies of snow --

Ay, ay ay ay
Take this waltz, take this waltz
with its "I'll never forget you, you know!"

And I'll dance with you in Vienna,
I'll be wearing a river's disguise.
The hyacinth wild on my shoulder
my mouth on the dew of your thighs.
And I'll bury my soul in a scrapbook,
with the photographs there and the moss.
And I'll yield to the flood of your beauty,
my cheap violin and my cross.
And you'll carry me down on your dancing
to the pools that you lift on your wrist --
O my love, O my love
Take this waltz, take this waltz,
it's yours now. It's all that there is.

~Leonard Cohen~

Take this Waltz - Leonard Cohen (Lorca)

Δευτέρα, 4 Ιανουαρίου 2010

My Boy...

I had one of those dreams again last night. You know; those dreams that take your breath away once awoken and you wish you’d never woken up. One of those dreams, which even after you’re in the world of consciousness you still feel warm and tender and sweet, like some peaceful aura is still surrounding you. I’m sure that many women will relate to my dream; some others may not.

“I dreamed of love; it was night and I dreamed that I was staying at a cousin’s house out of town. The house was quiet and his housemates were all occupied either with online gaming and chatting or reading for next day’s classes. The serene atmosphere of the apartment was suddenly interrupted by the Landlord; one of those hard-core ladies, full of muscle and suspicion, she entered the apartment enquiring who had been visiting the apartment for the last couple of days. Of course that someone was referring to me, as no more tenants were allowed in the apartment. I remember my heart racing in the dream as I stumbled here and there in the apartment, pretending to be cleaning the space of the kitchen in silence, in a desperate effort to show obedience and good behaviour. I knew that that wouldn’t cut it, but still I scrubbed on. As soon as the lady left, the room filled with a large number of my cousin’s friends; among them was the unknown boy of my dreams who stole my heart. I hadn’t seen him before, but as soon as I walked into the room, I could see his wilful eyes, his wondering smile casting a shadow upon me, trying to “figure” me out. Me, a firm believer that there is not love at first sight, was caught! All of a sudden my dream changed pace, rhythm and tone. It became a chase. My cousin and all of his friends (boys and girls who were in the apartment with us) were on the run, to get away from that space, from the Landlord lady, to get away from “our lives”, I know not…the important thing is that we were on the run, for unknown reasons, but we were running. On our way we found solace on a bus which I can distinctly remember it would carry us out of town, to an old place of mine, where I used to stay long before I had met any of the people I was with. On the bus, I was sitting at the far back trying to calm my nerves out of all this tension, out of all this madness which did not make any sense to me, why we were the bad ones since we did not do anything wrong in the first place. It was then, through all my shaking and all my fear that something warm touched me; literally. It was the hand of that boy. He was sitting beside me, not saying anything, while everybody stared at us, and he put his hand in mine. He didn’t speak a word, but rather looked at me, smiled at me and then looked ahead. We stayed there for a long time till it was time we got off the bus, and be on the run again, to find that place. I remember the feeling; the feeling that everybody knew that what had developed within an hour between me and him, was something warm, it was something pure, sweet, something I hadn’t felt since I was a little girl. Such an innocent feeling for someone else, which touched me like nothing in the last few years. It was honest and true. We got off and everybody started running again. What I distinctly recall is that he even held my hand through numerous steps we had to climb, through fences and through crossroads and junctions. We were moving ahead of the group until we found ourselves in a big crossing. It happened that me and him crossed the junction first, whilst the others were held behind. He was getting tense as well, but he didn’t let go of my hand once. He lit up a cigarette; he’d offer me one before as well, but I refused. This time I did not. I could not. With all that running and chasing, I was feeling like my heart was going to pop out of my chest, I grabbed the cigarette and breathed the smoke in such passion that before I even let the smoky air come out of my lungs, he leaned over and kissed me. His grip now became tight, like he didn’t want to let me go as if not to lose me. The air I didn’t manage to exhale, I exhaled it in him, while he gave me his, in the most innocent, gentle kiss I had ever had in a dream. His warmth was now surrounding me. I was left speechless, breathless, scare-less. It was just a moment, and yet it felt like an eternity of time stretching in that single heartbeat. The rest of the group had now crossed the junction and having seen “our moment” they urged us to just keeping going, due to lack of time. We started running again until we got to another big junction trying to find our way through the night which by now has started to rain quite heavily. We tried to cross the junction, this time with a sudden encounter from a massive lorry that didn’t notice us in the dark and was heading towards us. Just before tragedy hit our group, we managed to make the man in the lorry notice us and stop, split seconds before an unwanted fatal accident occured. Still, the boy did not let go of me. This time, his hand was firm, tight and he grabbed my waist every chance he could, as if frightened that if he didn’t hold me, I would be left behind and be gone from him forever. No man in all my conscious life has ever offered me that sort of protection; like I was like an ancient piece of pearl, trying to save me from the harms of the outside world, trying to hold on to me like an invaluable treasure he could not afford to lose. After our encounter with the lorry driver, we managed to hop on to the right bus that would take us to the house we were all looking for; somewhere safe, quiet and peaceful, with no one to chase us anymore, and no one to define us with their rules and regulations. After a short drive, the house came in sight. The joy in everyone’s face was simply indescribable. Like we had reached our haven, our comfort, our protected area. We got off the bus and headed for the house. Just before I entered the house, since I had to be the first to go in, being the only one who had the keys to the house, I had to let go of his hand. Before I did, he softly whispered to me; “I’ll be right behind you.”, and then he smiled. I slowly moved away from him and tried the keys, letting everyone in one by one. He stayed behind. At this point I was not in the scene, but I could clearly see in my dream what went down. I saw that my boy stayed outside the house with another male from the group and they were talking really intensely. I remember that they were talking about me, about who was going to be in my bed that night. I remember my boy bragging that “since you’re the one she loves and you want to have her bed now that you’ve seen she’s all loved-up, I am not going to let you have her. If you want her, I want her too, and we’ll see in whose bed she’s going to end up tonight.” Even though myself was not present physically in the dream during this conversation, I knew what was said between them, I knew that all the sweet emotions that had carried me through so far, had now gone and they were replaced by feelings of anger, disappointment and betrayal. I refused to believe that my boy could see me as something to be won, like a prize to be had…Indeed I was a treasure, of the wrong kind though. Not the kind, that I want you because you fill in the gaps in my life that could never be filled, but a treasure of who will have the most glittering prize to show off to the rest of the world. And that’s when….my dad woke me up.

Now, I have to admit that I have been watching back to back episodes from Prison Break (it’s the first time I actually sat down to watch all seasons together) and all this chasing and running might be affected from this. But my boy is not. I was sad I woke up, since I didn’t get to see what would go down after that, which boy would end up winning me, if they’d win me at all. Obviously both boys considered me “worthy” enough to have me, but I knew that as soon as they did it would mostly be over for them, whilst for me the case was somewhat different; obviously from the last words of my boy I cared for another member of the group deeply, but as yet nothing had happened, and when the other guy saw me with my boy he obviously could not handle any form of competition, even if the prize did not interest him that much, he just had to have it. What I distinctly remember after the dream though, was that warmth, that feeling of my boy that he showed me with no questions asked as soon as he saw me when I had entered the room of the apartment. I remember that I miss that feeling, which I haven’t felt in my conscious world ever since I was in early junior high school years; that feeling that someone cares for me flawlessly, selflessly, with no agenda and no ulterior motives (i.e. sexual hunger, showing off etc), with nothing to gain from having me in his life, in his arms, in his bed. I remember that all those “pure” and “warm” feelings I had experienced in my dream, is all a mere illusion in the conscious world. Feelings like that are fleeting, I know it. And yet, my unconscious world seeks them, yearns for them and still believes that there are feelings like that somewhere out there. My unconscious still has hope for my boy