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.

Δίεση

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…

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…~

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!

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.

“ 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 ”

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.



dEdIcAtIoN:
~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!

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.

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!

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~

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.

(VIDEO OF THE SPEECH AT THE LINK BELOW)

http://harvardmagazine.com/commencement/the-fringe-benefits-failure-the-importance-imagination

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...~

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

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!

Catherine Zeta-Jones & Queen Latifah - No Class

"Whatever happened to, "Please, may I?"
And, "Yes, thank you?"
And, "How charming?"
Now, every son of a bitch is a snake in the grass
Whatever happened to class?"

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?

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

Remember

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...

Wanting and not Having

Sad...

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

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)

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…

Untitled

Infamy has walked in the fields of gold
Infirmity has painted the red streaks of life

Black sunny weathers rising in the East
Sanguine firmaments being born with no words

Locked up in the Universe a toddler’s laugh remains
Amongst the shadows a ray of Light awaits

All perished and weathered now make an Entrance
From paths Unknown the Silver souls play with Penitence

Oh, Beloved my Mother! Give thy aid to us….
Blow us up with courage’s Will and royalty’s Might

Piece of Soul

Dive in the Alley
Empty thy Dark Luggage
Hope for another Hollow dream
Lock thy eyes for the Longing myth

No matter how deeply in love or out of love you might think you’ve fallen, it is merely your human vanity reflecting on the other person’s feelings. I felt this sadness…this emptiness in my fingers, this weakness in my knees. I felt the sadness of watching that someone, my someone, my potential someone, to stare into another’s eyes and light up…I felt this emptiness that asphyxiates me every time I want to utter words of romance, words of blasphemy, words of sweet illusion…every time I am tempted to honey my someone up, I encounter a glorious bolder and then….a cliff…my cliff…that tells me that HE is not mine…that tells me that no one will ever be mine…and that all the people who truly love me are unjustly away from me…


I hate this weakness in the knees…I hate this addiction of an imperfect nothingness…being strapped upon an empty island with no survival kit…I hate having to suffocating insidious jokes just to get by…I hate being angry in the injustice around me…I hate wanting…and not having…I hate being made to choose when I do not wish to…I hate being forced to act when I don’t want to…


My heart is half…one big part of it had to be sacrificed for survival…a big part of it had to be kept away for selfishness…my heart is half…

“Women were not made to woo but to be wooed”…the fellow said. Women were made be toys in the puritanical ethics of the patriarchal society. They were made to be subjected to humiliation, degradation, lies, treason, adultery, betrayal…Women were made for the male’s sport…Nothing but to feast upon…Woman has conquered nothing since HER dawn…but controls everything human! I pity those who are unfortunate enough to exist in this era…for nothing will ever, nor ever, will change till this world is shuttered to pieces into the Divine unknown…

I long for a lover's touch to softly caress me in the wee hours…I long for my second psyche to stroke my mind in the eternal hours of my human life…someday all this will end…and I shall feel no more…

Confession of an Aristocratic Whore

Confession of an Aristocratic Whore

Dismemberment of life
Grant of no grace in our gutters
Sedated happiness in unreal words
Pitiful kings lie in human secrets

Allegiance of a false power to govern us all
Unrest of a restored mob
Riots in the pavements of glory’s past
The age of miracle has long passed

Anarchy pours in the isles of greed
Retirement of unpassionate parades storm in
Balck petals flow in an ethnicity’s battlements
And a white tiger waits to rule, in sin!

Emerald stones will take their course
In power and lust they shutter mankind’s fall
My Charles, how loathsome thy shape has gone
Thy eternal youth in blood they yield below

Decapitation of the phony rat has come
A lonely council kneels in Divinity
Forgotten poison lurks between the alleys
A Father’s Love and a Son’s Pride

Why let be bygone be bygone for a low blow whistle
The affairs of the Crown are hanged for one whisky lust
A thirst of hedonism to rule my Rebels
The vowed Throne be filled with ashy treasures

My Bathory sulks in the corridors of Youth
Eyeing atrocities of guilt to decorate the rotten Truth
Defy the Glorious luxury of gilded cages
Bury this Puritanism in obscurity of negligence

To thee, dark spirit thy minions dwell
To thee, creation has humankind bled
Thy scheme has already be perceived
Thy Myth of Decadence shall eternally live!

Dear Dark Stranger

Dear Dark Stranger,

We met but scattered moments and I instantly knew you were going to play a much more significant part in my life than I had hoped you would. Do not mistake this words for a mere personal vanity, but simply as an assessment of feelings ahead that should be trimmed down and put aside for the progression of our course. You represent everything I had wished I could avoid in coming back to my native land. However the carefree branch of your thoughts and actions, I must admit I found a great difficulty in accepting such an overwhelming idealism from a person who seeks to avoid so many experiences in life. You are swarmed by a light glow of darkness, an image which makes your sensitivity all the more appealing to my cynical views. No such words are to be uttered in public, as we are both very much aware that the situation cannot be helped, as it is not of a mutual point of view. I am sure that by now, you probably do not comprehend a word of what I so bashfully express on paper, but I shall try to be clearer; having battled with my mind and my heart, I have come to the conclusion that you could potentially make me fall…into an unwanted passionate love. This is not something I gracefully pursue, especially at this point in my life, as indeed life’s thrown me in a crossroads and being focussed on my future plans is of the utmost importance to me. Every person in their life is encircled by two things; their needs and their wants. I am your former in this instance. It is a great pity that most people do not take any great interest in their needs but instead they seek so passionately for their wants, which ultimately leads them to a dead-end. For me, unfortunately you are the latter. A want I cannot pursue at this point in my life, as indeed I embody vanity at this stage, since I am in search for professional progression. You, my dark stranger, embody a want I simply cannot pursue given my current situation. You are potentially everything I have so longed for, but which unfortunately arrived too little too late. A potentially great love that arrived at the wrong time, in the wrong place. My intentions are to keep things between us as is; be merely pleasant acquaintances and avoid any contraction of emotional interchange, as that would make matters all the more difficult and unpleasant for both parties. Indeed, in another world, we potentially might have been the mythic embodiment of a great long mad affair. We do know though, how myths turn out in this world¬; unwanted and filled with hatred for their “glorified” imagination. Such are the feelings battling inside me this period. No matter how much I long for attention and a sip of your lust to be directed to me, no matter if in my heart I know that what you require is patience and understanding, something which I could so willingly offer under different circumstances of course, no matter if you might be the single person in this god forsaken place who can make me believe again into something beautiful, even though all this can happen in a potential union of us, things will never unfold the way we hoped them to. That is our greatest tragedy; the possibility to live something so breathtakingly glorious but which will never happen because of human vanity and unnatural fear of jumping off the cliff called unknown.

One once upon a night....

insanity within the battered heart
hatred eats the worms of a good life

bless me father for i have sinned
and yet kill me for tempation's within

the path is drawn
whether the winds will it or not

the time is nigh
for all must happen tonight

encourage me Bachchus so strong
to glorify my pleasure in the storm

heat up body of lust
forget family, dreams and all that

brother, my brother so young and so bold
i fear for the bond that grows in our cold

misty secrets in this dark paradise
creation of art dies in the night

what next steps am i suppose to follow now
how am i suppose not to bleed in the yellow snow?!

Brandi Carlile - Tragedy

...but you know I'll defend, the tragedy that we knew us the END!

Νοεμβριακό Απόσπασμα

Νοεμβριακό Απόσπασμα
~Η εγκατάλειψη~

Έρχεται ξανά και ετούτος ο χειμώνας
Εχθρικός, όμορφος και ανένδοτος να με ξεκάνει

Με γέμισε πάλι έχθρες και καρφιά η καρδιά μου σήμερα το βράδυ
Σκοτείνιασε το μυαλό μου με πίκρα, θυμό και ζήλια για τη γήινο μου μονοπάτι

Πόσο θέλω να πληγώσω τον γνωστό εισβολέα μου
Που τριγυρίζει ανάμεσα μου και με καταδιώκει

Ουρλιαχτά να θέλουν να βγαίνουν από μέσα μου
Για την άδικη εγκατάλειψη των μικρών μου ονείρων

Εγώ δε χάρηκα φιλιά και αγκάλες
Εγώ σε ποδιές έκλαψα για πέντε ψωροδεκάρες

Τι να γίνει όμως αφού η μοίρα δε μου’ δωσε ομορφιά
Αλλά με προίκισε με «προσωπικότητα»

Τι παράπονο τώρα εγώ να λησμονώ
Σαν βίαια αναγκάζομαι το αντίο να πω στη χώρα που αγαπώ;

Η κλάψες είναι για τους αδύναμους
Για τους φοβισμένους και τους μη τολμηρούς

Δε ξέρω πώς να ουρλιάξω άλλο για τα όνειρα μου
Για όλα αυτά που έπρεπε, που πρέπει να ζήσω

Δε ξέρω πώς να βρω γαλήνη μέσα στη τόση βαβούρα
Για να αναγεννηθώ…να αναπνεύσω έξω από τον άδικο κλοιό που μου όρισαν

Δεν το διάλεξα αυτό.
Αποστροφή μου φέρνει η φυγή μου.

Κι όμως τώρα σε βλέπω από ψηλά
Μέσα στο μεταλλικό πουλί να χάνεσαι μπροστά μου

Ίσως, θα μου πεις.
Και τι κι’ αν γινόταν….θα γυρίσω να πω κάποια μέρα

Δεν έχει σημασία άλλο πια.
Η σιωπή κατοικεί πλέον στο κορμί μου.

Το μυαλό παλεύει τον άπληστο Χάρο να ξεφύγει
Και όλες τις πλάνες του ιδεαλισμού μου, με μιας να τις μαδήσει.

Η συνέχεια έπεται. Τα όνειρα λιγόστεψαν.
Οι φίλοι κοιμήθηκαν.

Και εγώ, ναυαγός στης καταπίεσης το πέλαγο αρμενίζω….
Μη με λησμονήσετε….
…θα ξανάρθω!