the last night of a proces that begun a long time ago
in a flat that we won't see again.
that became a temporary home for two weeks
with wine and smoke
like good old times
that felt like green balloons and drinks on the rock and the perfect sunset in the summer of 2001 and paper plates thrown out of a window
looks like what it used to be
yet it is no longer

then it is gone
and then you hear the sound of someone typing on the keyboard
the same key over and over again

a moment of suitable silence adieu
roll the dice

and then we start again
or i do
me?

lisbon or what i learnt in IFTR

it's 02.31. am writing in a hotel. in lisbon. i have much to say. yet i have not much time. so i shall be brief. in lisbon in the past week,we talked a lot about silences; how can you talk about silences without being silent? how are voices filling silence and do they?
we have been walking a lot in a landscape of many surprises and variations
we have been drinking and philosophising a lot.
the topic of the conference was censorship; apart from the general rules and conventions of social life i dont think that we censored ourselves much.
people took many photographs. i took none but one: the writing on a wall in the metro station of citada universitaria: 'i am not a citizen of Greece; i am a citizen of the world only'. Socrates' words and the lovely company and the decision to write subverting the banal methodologies and the passion of some people and the potentiality of a nice winter in london and the beautiful air and sun and space of Lisbon and the view of the bridge this morning is what i will keep silent; not because I am censoring them, but because i hold them dear.
and perhaps what i have learnt in Lisbon in the past week, is that sometimes silencing things does not mean only censorship or self-censorship and not daring; it might be the strength and courage to hold them dear like that; silent and unadmitted;but be content.

and now it's time to go back home. for a very short time. but home or the closest i have to it.

re/dis-placing

what's the good in strength
when no miracles allowed?

swiftly moving on--everything will be just fine..absolutely.

01.07 am
humid horrible night
spilling drinks and words
a bin
covered with water and fake sun-tan like mud
threw the keys in it
walked away

postscript: the only place i feel like home anymore
is with you (A.D.N)

postscript

how i wish you were here

sometimes it's like silence
and it falls with a loud noice
leaving the rest unsaid

it's been a year, or maybe more, or maybe less
stuck with drops
regardless of place and season

sometimes it's like a silence
a moment of it is longer than you needed
the next step is not to be taken

really it's been a year
with or without trust
it's been a year

20 items less yet so much lighter

curious she doesn't mind it..
quiet yet inevitable

'give me something i could do/oh give me something I could give you back again/
give me just a little tiny something...
and please remember all those flowers, flowers,flowers..'
(Monika, 'not young in my youth')

long long time...

no see... my birthday is almost over and March is on its way out and I haven't written for more than a month.the reason why this is happening is because I am writing in another blog quite a lot and I am thinking about too many things all this time launching this campaign against comfortable and easy situations

BUT

it is a good time and I am already dreaming of a wet, humid and creative August in the vaults ...and yes, with a smile on my face, I am walking to bed thinking:

sleep scattered you
around me near me
without me being able to touch the whole of you

the simple life

somewhere between the mad days, the airplane and train tickets, the constant up and down the hill, the days with the snow and the snow melting, the endless hours in front of the computer and word documents being created, the piles of essays and exams, the powerpoints waiting to be created, the pages of the diary being filled in with a crazy rhythm, one can pause for a second..
and appreciate that even though much has been happening and it is hard to keep track of things and people and dates, this is actually one of the best and simplest periods of one's life.

this morning the sun entered the bedroom
I felt that someone was on the doorstep waiting for the door to open..
so I did
and I welcomed spring with a big smile

how long?

somewhere it's almost dawn
looking outside the clear glasses
light flickering in the distance

a body moves in white sheets
with leftovers of sand
and petals of lavender

somewhere a voice gets lost in the crowd
a phone rings
the lights of dawn evaporate
dissolve
dominate

nothing to remember
nothing to repeat
nothing to structure

how long before the sun blinds your eyes?

where i end and you begin (inter-blog reference)

Margo wrote a very interesting post the other day about the unknown paths of someone and staying relative to oneself, describing her and her students' journeys..and it put me in thoughts...

so let's start from the big bang:
my students were born in 1987,1988 or 1989, 1990 etc
when i talk about the fall of the Berlin wall, I remember myself at the age of 9 being absolutely glued in front of the tv watching--they were not even born or they were just babies; hence there is a gap in terms of reference, not necessary but it occurs many times..this is not the point, the point is that there is a gap that you might fall in.

then today, I was pacing up and down the exam room in my university looking at my students taking their final exam of a module on performance and globalisation (which was such a pain throughout the months between october and december). one of them asked me to go to the toilet (and i had to escort him, ah! the joys of invigilation!), on the way back I saw that he was wearing a big budge saying '21 today'..I smiled as I always do when I feel uncomfortable or guilty.

for the rest of the exam, I was thinking of a time travel machine that I could take and go back to the years 1999 or 1998 when these people where 10 and I was 18,19,20 writing exams, hating latin and thinking that I knew everything. I am trying to bring myself back in their shoes knowing that there is nothing more relative than the experience of being an undergraduate student.
and then tonight, my most favourite student ever and now a very dear and close friend announces his good news and prospects of study for next year; 'you are about to embark on a most delightful journey', the little piece of paper from the fortune cookie of the night of September 16th 2002 came to mind straightaway, the moment that I read his message; I am still travelling this journey and he is about to embark on one of his own...then is the gap growing smaller? it is just where you situate yourself in the line of this journey (very start, start, middle, towards the end, about to finish) that is different. or is it?

being relative to oneself means keep asking questions, right?
my questions tonight are:

1. has it really been 10 years since I got that funny book as a birthday gift for my brother and he was 21 and I was 19? (I froze tonight when he reminded me; 'no sense of humour' he said; true i find it very difficult to keep my sense of humour these days)
2. why do I keep on choosing to fall on my steps through the walk of someone else? and how can I not believe that time, after all the fuss, the trouble and the arguments, is indeed cyclical?

radiohead's song comes to mind...
'there is a gap in between, there is a gap where we meet,
where I end and you begin..'

13 gifts that i had in my sleep

a yellow raincoat
the bike I used to ride when I was 5
my cat
the book that I never finished
a parachute
a paper moon
a glass of the finest orange juice
a dolphin
my grandmother
words words words
a small ball of white, red and blue stripes
the sound of spring rain
the keys to the fourth dimension

and in my own time...

i started disliking airplanes
but mostly airports with all the plastic bags and the crap surrounding them
'smoking is not permitted in the building; please use only the designated areas..'
perhaps the term 'non-place' really is accurate; or empty place in my case
...
i also realised that an avocado can stay alive in the fridge for
more than 15 days..still decided to throw it away
...
i got rid of the christmas tree in one go
no second thoughts, no wondering of what might happen till next christmas
..
i have this crazy urge to start smoking in my study like good old days
i will keep fighting against it --for a while
..
heard the silence buzzing in my ears last night
had to turn on all the lights
and sing to forget it
i am still carrying it with me
..
am getting used to not hearing my top favourite phrases
'stuff' and 'how is life?'
...
am landing
...
how long does it take for a space to turn into a place?

in the meantime..2.

in the meantime, America is waiting for Obama's inauguration
there are websites counting down the hours
and I want to believe in the articles that claim that regardless of the pressure and the complexities of the present moment, the 44th American President can actually 'do it'.

but why are U2 always present in such momentous events?
I really don't like them anymore

in the meantime...1. a fragile ceasefire

a 'fragile ceasefire' was signed in Gaza, I read in the paper this morning
of course fragile..since some claim that 'the job has not been completed." Netanyahu, who is expected to be Prime Minister next month, refers apparently to Hamas and extremists..
i think that a large part of the international community thinks that 'the job' is anything but defence..

check out the article in The Independent for a brief but accurate account of 'What really happened in Gaza'..and enlarge the image of the man leaving his home, carrying his belongings and not looking back..

afterthought at the end of a year; goodbye 2008

Walter Benjamin writes in The storyteller:
'memory creates the chain of tradition which passes a happening on from generation to generation. It is the Muse-derived element of the epic art in a broader sense and encompasses its varieties. In the first place among these is the one practised by the storyteller. It starts the web which all stories together form in the end...'

can it be that every year is nothing else but one more story that adds to the final web which is the story of a person's life?
can it be that we, the subjects of our individual, personal stories- micronarratives and to a lesser extent subjects of the grand narrative of history, we experience our stories according to the inspiration that the muse gives us to experience and live our lives?
can it be that we just live better if we have been given the gift of being able to share our lives and tell our stories out loud in ways that will add to other people's stories?
can it be that our individual stories make sense only when they become part of the greater tradition of stories of humankind?
can it be that life is yet another form of the plenty forms and varieties of the epic art?


Happy 2009 (in approximately 70 hours)...
may the stories go on
may we have the passion to endure and experience
and the virtue to narrate and share

more to remember

..and what about what has not been captured in cameras and films, how can these be recorded in the micro-narratives of my story?

for example,

there are the recent Radiohead and REM albums that played non-stop in the cd
or
the evenings that I spent listening to other musics thanks to my friends
or
the song 'it's the first day of the rest of your life' playing non-stop on the 29th of July
or
the feeling of joy and triumph when the phone rang at 9.30 am on that morning
or
the tear that I could not control at the end of Complicite's A Disappearing Number
or
the scream of joy at the end of Schaubuehne's Hamlet
or
the pain I felt that February morning when I could not move from the bed
or
the disgust that I felt when I realised (yet again) how petty people can be
or
the evenings that I spent on the leather couch in Dublin drinking gin and tonic and talking or thinking about nonsense
or
the words that were not sent via email and the emails that were received late
or
the beauty of the words of Murakami and Mishima and Yoshimoto and all the Japanese writers that invaded my life this year
or
the taste of that strawberry sweet we used to have together in Leon
or
the moment when you told me 'read this, I will get you a coffee--what do you want?', but we were in Starbucks that day and it was a day during rehearsals
or
the tiredness of carrying my baggage to and from
or
your smile that I am carrying with me everyday and makes me smile--but you cannot see me because you are far away or because you don't know how much you can make me smile
or
the feeling of missing precious moments because you have chosen to be present and experience other moments
or
whatever is forgotten, considered unworthy and deleted from the long lists of memories at the end of a year..

something else to remember (grand narratives?)

I am not entirely sure that this will make it to the grand narrative of Greek History
but the recent (and ongoing) protests of the youth in Athens following the brutal murder of the 15-year-old boy on December 6th are definitely a moment to be remembered in the new year...

if Obama's victory is about the audacity of hope
the young Greek rebels are crying against the audacity of corruption and demanding the audacity of a better future...if any is left for 2009

something else to remember (grand narratives)

this moment has already entered the grand narrative of History
the anonymous individuals
and the one man that millions of people are expecting from
not as a static picture or a mirror image
but as a true tide of hope

Barack Obama elected American president (November 08)

something to remember (snapshots)

black and white
and a bit unclear
like some memories that you are not entirely sure
whether they are yours or
you have borrowed them from a film
or stole them from someone else..

and sunflowers in the vase
on the way out
on the 31st of August

in memoria of
life in Dublin