what lies inside..

anticipation and stress
strong heart-beat and pulse
then
wind on the face
the sight of the city over the bridge

flickering lights
and humidity
seeking orientation
taste of strange red wine
the smile on your face
and rivers of words
smell of winter
eyes open or closed
the branches of the trees struggle me
‘did I dream you dreamt about me?’

and..
walking in the rain
watching people passing by
listening to languages I don’t understand
waiting
walking some more
remembering four years

taste of orange juice
the smile on his face
‘enjoy the freedom’

life.. wide open
see what lies inside..
no singular
only plural
simply a smile
that dissolves everything
in beauty and silence

thank you

5 Random Truths about me..

So, since my dear Mia Wallace made the request/invitation via her blog for each one of us to follow her example and write 5 things about us, here is my list:

1. Since I was 7, I had a collection of paper napkins from everywhere I was going; I stopped collecting at the age of 19, and now I have more than 500 different kinds of paper napkins. Since last year, I am collecting mugs from every place I visit.
2. At the age of 9, I organised a whole plot against my nanny in order to make sure that she would go; and I succeeded. Definitely, one of the most embarrassing moments of my life.
3. As a teenager, I was crazy about football but did not support the club I was supposed to (i.e., for Greek readers, I was not an Olympiakos fun). Numerous fights with the boys, including one of them tearing the lovely poster of my club that I have made for the drawing course. Ah!
4. I hate celery, beans, and (to a lesser extent) eggs.
5. I confess: I read Harry Potter and my favourite character is Lord Voldemort.

I doubt that any of the above offers any more insight into who I am; but I will return to the topic in the future talking about the things that we love to say about ourselves- our self-ideologies.

PS. for Mia: I have an intuition that I know what you are going to reveal about me via your blog: is it in any way related to your Sunday visit and sleeping in my bed? do the words ‘duvet’ and ‘buttons’ ring a bell ;)?

Algos..

nostalgia
nostos-algos
seeking
the return
home

no(st)algia
no algos
no pain
no sense of home
no strings attached

sink in the gravity
or fly away
fearless
and free
‘it’s true; you have nothing to lose
now that everything seems to have been won’

Memories of a goldfish

running over the same old ground,
what have we found?

..soul closed in a fishbowl
making rounds around same things
same thoughts
same places and dreams..
if only..
have the memory a goldfısh..
and forget about the fishbowl

Des larmes

je me fais pleurer, pour me prouver que ma douleur n'est pas une illusion

les larmes sont des signes, non des expressions.

par mes larmes, je raconte une histoire,

je produis une mythe de la douleur

R. Barthes ,Fragments d'un discours amoureux

encounters of the last night

...a colourful dinosaur jumped on her lap
turned and looked at her
as if he was expecting something..
she stroke him like she used to stroke her cat

now this is her cat
looking at her with her usual frown on her face
but she is not white anymore
but ginger and she is sitting on the table
and waiting for her to wake up
and it will be summer again

(Summer by Miro,

and notes from the diary of a hyper 'bat-nerd')

Tuesday 13th February

για τις παλιές αγάπες μη μιλάς
στα πιο μεγάλα θέλω κάνουν πίσω
δεν άντεξαν μαζί και χάθηκαν μακριά
κρυφτήκαν στις σπηλιές χαμένων παραδείσων

'remember me- always'

...some years later
tried to remember
but no
only a song
only a date
Tuesday 13th February

I guess it's true,
nothing lasts forever-but nothing..

Bat-wings on a flying broom...

The ‘hyper bat- nerd’ returns… with her large bat-wings (like her good old grey ‘blanket’ covering half her face), running up and down in the flat trying out ways to fly and go save the world (or herself). A strong sense of self-discipline, tons of caffeine, many cartons of cigarettes and very few hours of sleep are necessary for this great endeavour that she has begun.

Last night she dreamt of flying on a magic broom, her ‘bat wings’ wide open, trying to catch something as small and precious as the golden snitch. When she woke up in the morning she could not remember what she was after; in any case, one day soon she might get her golden snitch..No caffeine, no tobacco, no self-discipline will be necessary- only magic.

Look around; soon, you will see her flying outside your window, on her magic broom, spreading her grey bat-wings..a ‘hyper bat-nerd’ is to become a witch (again)!

A white night

03.41
no sound outside
as if someone turned the volume down
I always liked staying up all night when everybody else is sleeping, wonder what dreams they are having
tonight I am awake
and in the darkness I can see pure white
snow is falling softly in the suburbs of London
covering gradually the roofs and the trees
all is becoming white
tomorrow morning people will complain about late trains and problems in commuting
all these I find boring
for me it's only about the joy of watching this silent dance of snow
covering everything
in silence
that's a moment of happiness

I will stay up all night
snow will keep me company
by the first light of dawn
the white of the snow will have covered everything
I will go out
let the snow cover me
dissolve everything
and vanish

03.51 the dance is getting wild
let it go on
in silence

A bottle in the ocean

Today I woke up and thought of three different topics I could write about in thıs blog. I thought the 'hyper bat-nerd', the icy river and the list of my recent 'discoveries' whatever this might mean. I even wrote the posts but then.
.out of the blue, as always, a surprise made me change my mind. A parcel all the way from Melbourne for me, a 'doctor'..and Elvis Costello and Leonard Cohen and sounds from our Greek childhood and some music I dont know and have to 'discover' - ..and the letter that made me smile and cry at the same time.

Thank you is never enough. A bottle in the ocean for you, for always being here even though you are so far away. For being a real friend, sharing, taking, giving..and silence in the room listening to some song and then you explaining- beauty and happiness is so simple..I just forget..

..she was wrong- she does not discover, she does not achieve or earn- she is, moves, flows, loves and people, real friends, old and new, meet her in different moments- and they simply are who they are, they share in theır presence, they laugh, they cry and then they let her go on- until the next crossroads. Until the next moment when a simple smile and a look in their eyes will make her feel warm.

And the bottle with or without a message keeps travelling in the ocean...

Friday Questions: What is?

it’s only a moment
when you can’t do anything else
it’s only a tune
that you play over and over again
it’s only a colour
that you cannot recall
unless you find it fresh and new
it’s only a madness
that can go away only if
you open your eyes
it’s only a made-up condition
that we taint by choosing words
it’s only what was left aside
and buried under piles of explanations
it’s only a moment before
building ‘I want and I can’ sentences
it’s only real and present
and you can’t do otherwise
it’s only what we make of it
and that’s why it is not one
it almost does not exist
it keeps changing
evading
escaping
flowing
it is a moment
not an eternity
not a condition
not a state
that is constantly there

it is made by each one of us
it is personal
but never alone

Only a provisional, clumsy answer to a tricky question that was asked today.
But why are we seeking definitions for things that we cannot define?
I never managed to answer this question; I always fail, somehow miss the point
Not much I can do about it because somehow I know the answer will always change along with smells, sights, colours, sounds..
What’s the question? Try to guess!
But it doesn’t really matter after all..each one of us has questions that will never manage to answer.

Υπάρχουν χρυσόψαρα εδώ;

Στον Παράδεισο έχω σημαδέψει ένα νησί
απαράλλαχτο εσύ και ένα σπίτι στη θάλασσα.
Με κρεβάτι μεγάλο και πόρτα μικρή
έχω ρίξει μες στ’ άπατα μιαν ηχώ
να κοιτάζομαι κάθε πρωί που ξυπνώ.
Nα σε βλέπω μισή να περνάς στο νερό
και μισή να σε κλαίω μες στον Παράδεισο.

(Ελύτης Το Μονόγραμμα)

Monday morning

Monday morning
echoes still softly playing in your ears
made-up stories still sleeping next to you
waiting for more life
let them sleep for now; don’t think twice

water the daffodils,
and look outside the window,
the sun is somewhere behind the clouds
‘spring is coming, I am telling you’
‘can you predict the future?’
listen to the birds
how I wish

put the kettle on,
coffee and milk,
put your papers in order, turn on the computer,
and choose between yellow, green, pink and orange,
wonder what the blue beast is
but leave it for the moment,
smoke the first cigarette,
check your diary and plan the week ahead
how I wish

water is boiling,
think what needs to be done;
‘careful, right moves and patience’,
‘just let go; it’s alright’
burn your hand- ready.

One more cup of coffee before the start.
Monday morning; smile if you can.

Another piece

almost like a jigsaw
the more you look at separate pieces,
struggling to make them fit
and connect
the more you get confused.
only when you abandon the jigsaw for a while,
and then look at the bigger picture from far away,
you might be surprised-
another piece reveals itself
actually missing
but could somehow fit in,
another piece
another step.
will it ever be finished though?

Who's afraid of the big bad wolf?

people standing on the train
closed in their little bubbles
reading free newspapers
guarding their stuff
avoiding to look at each other
closing their eyes
I whisper
who’s afraid of the big bad wolf?

I get back home
lock the door
turn on all the lights
the big bad wolf
the big bad wolf

keep the evil eye away
who’s afraid?
the dark
put some music
the big bad wolf
the big bad wolf
have a warm bath
talk on the phone
smoke a cigarette
and then another
make a drink
cranberry and oranges
who’s afraid?

read a fairy tale before sleeping
telling the same story again
warming up your feet
get your childhood’s teddy bear
squeeze it
until you can’t breathe
who’s afraid of the big bad wolf?

close your eyes
no tears
who’s afraid?
bring the memory of a face
bring the image of the sea
drown in it
what you’ve become
where will you go
who’s afraid?
the big bad wolf?

who’s afraid of the big bad wolf?
who’s afraid of the big bad?
who’s the big bad wolf?
I am afraid of him

True Men Part II

Back in the day, I had promised to go on with this topic.
And here he is, tonight.: the one and only Ralph Fiennes.
In spite of what other people might say, after this film, every woman in the planet would love to call her 'Catherine' (said in his distinctive, slow way).

My most favourite, almost archetypal man!

2046

‘Why can’t it be like it was before?’

2046, a year that nothing happens, nothing changes. Like embarking on a train that never arrives at its final destination. Can you escape from there? Do you want to? And if you do, what story are you going to say to explain why you left at the first place?

In 2046 (2004), a beautiful, sensational and thought-provoking film by Kar Wai Wang, a writer is writing a novel, making up a story about a future moment when all memories can be captured and in a new context relived. Throughout his many encounters/fragments with different women in an old hotel in Hong Kong in the 1960s, he travels between past and future, illusion and reality, cigarettes, red lipsticks, mirrors and sliding doors and the number 2046. A film about love, loss, remembering and forgetting- a film about a future moment somewhere in the past. Definitely, a must-see.

Ceasefire

‘ο έρωτας του κορμιού
ο έρωτας της ψυχής
πρόσεξε μην τ’ αναμίξεις’
[‘the love of the body
the love of the soul
careful; don’t blend them’]

your face on the window
on the train
travelling at night
no-not night
late in the evening
faster and faster

rehearsing words
‘have to be witty
have to be smart’
closer and closer

for the battle
under the hill
‘bring out your sword
I’ll count up to three’
‘I don’t want to fight you- walk with me’
the streets turn
like a labyrinth
a black shadow is following
but you cannot see her
where is the end of the line?

the library
smell of rotten paper
and old books
the first light of day
déjà-vu
covered with flowers
drops of water
falling

two little bottles
a dark blue
and a white
‘don’t blend them’
too late
the colour of the sword
was now light blue

(notes for a Saturday,

borrowing from G.S. always

and the faces of the Fayum, Egypt)

A thought a day

How many thoughts cross your mind everyday?
I dont know; never counted them.
One thing leads to another.
the 'association game'.
in the middle of a thought, something breaks.
something is lost.
another comes.
and the journey goes on..
But eventually, I don't care how many thoughts I have a day
as long as I have one.
But what is the colour of (my) thought?

Once more

a white piece of cloth
a red ribbon
a blue beast
an old hanger
two people
no sense of home
travelling ‘flying Dutchmen’

a smile in Latin characters
the face of a woman
popping a pink chewing-gum
the smell of oranges in November
and fires burning in the night

first material
for something
that travels on its own
despite me
like a cheek pea
that might never grow
but I will carry in my pocket