Tuesday, July 29, 2008

Variations On The Word Love

This is a word we use to plug
holes with.
It's the right size for those warm
blanks in speech, for those red heart-
shaped vacancies on the page
that look nothing
like real hearts.
Add lace and you can sell it.
We insert it also in the one empty
space on the printed form
that comes with no instructions.
There are whole magazines with not much in them
but the word love,
you can rub it all over your body
and you can cook with it too.
How do we know it isn't what goes on
at the cool debaucheries of slugs under damp
pieces of cardboard? As for the weed-
seedlings nosing their tough snouts up
among the lettuces, they shout it.
Love! Love! sing the soldiers,
raising their glittering knives in salute.
Then there's the two
of us.
This word
is far too short for us, it has only
four letters, too sparse
to fill those deep bare
vacuums between the stars
that press on us with their deafness.
It's not love we don't wish
to fall into, but that fear.
this word is not enough but it will
have to do. It's a single
vowel in this metallic
silence, a mouth that says
O again and again in wonder
and pain, a breath, a finger
grip on a cliffside.

You can hold on
or let go.

- Margaret Atwood

Sunday, July 20, 2008


You lose your love for her
and then
It is her who is

And then
it is both who are
l o s t
And nothing is ever as perfect as you want it to be.

In a very ordinary world
A most extraordinary pain
with the small routines,
The loss seems
and yet,
Nothing can be pinned down
or fully ex-plain-ed.

You are afraid.

If you found the
perfect love

It would scald your hands,
Rip the skin from your nerves,
h a v o c
with a computered heart.

You lose your love for her and then it is her who is lost.

You tried not to hurt and yet,
Everything you touched became a

You tried to mend what cannot be mended,
You tried, neither foolish nor clumsy,

To rescue what cannot be rescued.

You f

And now she is else where

And her night and your night

Are both utterly drained.
How easy it would be If love could be brought home like a lost kitten or gathered in like strawberries,

How lovely it w o u l d be;

But nothing is ever as perfect as you want it to be.

Saturday, July 19, 2008

πάντα με φρέσκιες,
χρωματιστές λέξεις στα χέρια

- γνήσια εικονολάτρισσα -
θέλω να σε

ξερνάει ασύστολά ο ποιητής
για να αποβάλλει διαμελισμένες
- ένα 'μη' εδώ κι ένα 'μη' εκεί -

χτύπα (αμίληκτα)

χτύπα (δυνατά)

μη φοβάσαι

δε σε ακούει



ά ο ς

υ.γ. που' σαι,όταν δε θα μπορώ πια, μη με βάλεις σε οίκο ευθανασίας. εντάξει;

Thursday, July 17, 2008

Mamma mia...


Καστάνη close up and personal

Άγιος Ιωάννης zoom in

Άγιος Ιωάννης zoom out


directions to Daquiri


View to a kill

Wednesday, July 09, 2008


ή αλλιώς :
cock porn

ή αλλιώς:'πήγα για μαλλί (της γριάς) και βγήκα κ@8>0μένος'

(η φωτό δεν έχει υποστεί photoshop. η ζωή πάντα προηγειται της τέχνης, μην τα ξαναλέμε αυτά)

Saturday, July 05, 2008

whatever happened to ALICE ?

ALICE (A Large Ion Collider Experiment) was scheduled for the 30th of june 2008 - just a week ago, to reproduce the conditions of Big Bang just 10 microseconds after it happened, generating temperatures 100.000 as hot as the sun's center.
Any news anybody?
I am conCERNed.

Thursday, July 03, 2008


Sing a cradle-song now,
as the light fades around us

And you breathe like the ocean,
ying small in my arms
See it all in a moment

- you so young and unclouded

Shining bright as a lion -

Feel the motion of time

As the world rolls away from the sun.

I can feel your life burning
Unlived moments within you

Further than I can see,

May the fire be your friend

And the sea rock you gently,

May the moon light your way
Till the wind sets you free
I remember your face
As you cried for the first time
The cold air of the world
And the fierce light of day
And the cruel separation

In a world washed with tears;

Numbed with pain to unfeeling
- May you hold to your truth

As you walk the dark night of unreason.
The stone walls which surround us
May your spirit fly round them
Like the wind from the sea.
May the fire be your friend
And the sea rock you gently,

May the moon light your way

Till the wind sets you free

May you never know hunger
May you love with a full heart

The light stay in your eyes,

May the fire be your friend
And the sea rock you gently,
May the moon light your way
Till the wind sets you free.

(να σε χαίρεσαι πρώτα και μετά να σε χαίρομαι κι εγώ)

angel off mine

In confinement,
i beg your wings to spread out and take over.
In confinement,
I fear your wings spreading out for take off.
I dread the room enough to reach out and touch you
it is room small enough for you to leave.
Doomed by the irrelativity of Us
and our relationship
-a ship adrift
a compass-less compassion,
an anchor-less posession,
a flying Dutchman haunting our leaving daylights
My words,
strings attached to your angel-kite,
postponing an inevitable flight to Godknowswhat and Godknowswhere.
heavy, sugarcoated centripetal candy,
exorcising centrifugal innevitability.
I fear your wings spreading to the world.
I long your wings sreading to the world.
I captured a small, weak feather to my belonging.
It is yours.
It is proof of your aviational skills
and a talisman for my fear of flying.
I hold it tight in my hands.
When the inevitable happens
- and I will be the first to welcome it-
being the flight control captain in due charge and in due position,
I will honor the moment
and I will make way for your runway.
I will make space
enough for you to leave.
Because love for a winged angel
is a wingless victory,
a pocketful of feathers,
the grace of letting go
and a rehabilitation room
to learn
not how to
but how to breathe again.


Tuesday, July 01, 2008

4χ4 (μέρες επί 4 ευτυχίες)

Να κλείνω τα μάτια και να κοιτάω κατάματα τον ήλιο, γα να πλημμυρίζουν τα βλέφαρά μου με εκείνο το πορτοκαλοκόκκινο τής απόλυτης γαλήνης.
Ν΄ανοίγω τ΄αυτιά, ορθάνοιχτα, και να απολαμβάνω κονσέρτο για σόλο φλοίσβο
με τη συνοδεία τής χορωδίας τζιτζικιών
σε ήλιο μείζονα.

Ν' αφήνομαι στο τυχαίο χάδι τής λεμονί πεταλούδας καθώς προσγειώνεται στιγμαία δίπλα μου, για να ενωθεί με το υδάτινο, θαλασσί συμληρωματικό της
σε μια πράσινη πληρότητα του ενός δευτερολέπτου.
Ένας τρίδιπλος 'ελληνικός' σε κούπα λουλουδάτη ψημένος από ντάμα κούπα
και σερβιρισμένος στο κατάστρωμα της βεράντας της, ενώ αγναντεύω
ενα κατάρτι χωρίς πλοίο δίπλα σε μια γάτα που λιάζεται ράθυμα και ξυπνά από ένα καπέλο που απογειώνεται περνώντας ξυστά από πάνω της
συνοδεύοντας τον απόπλου της σκέψης μου.
Και στο καπάκι,
εκείνη η κουβέντα της που με τύλιξε σφιχτά στη χνουδωτή αγγαλιά τών λέξεών της.

είναι οι στιγμές που εντοπίζεις τυχαία
εν πλω,
αφού πετάξεις πρώτα από το πλοίο
τον παραμορφωτικό φακό
τής αιτιότητας.

Η ευτυχία δεν είναι καθόλου αόριστη.
Η ευτυχία δεν βρίσκεται σε παράταση.
Η ευτυχία είναι ακαριαία ενεστωτική
και εκκωφαντική.
Σαν τα χθεσινά πυροτεχνήματα.
Προ ημερών είπα σε ένα φίλο ότι φεύγω για να πάω στη νονά μου.
Γέλασε δυνατά.
"Έχεις και νονα-νεράιδα σαν τη Σταχτοπούτα;" ρώτησε.
"Όχι", του λέω, "Έχω καλύτερη. Της δικιάς μου τα μαγικά πιάνουν και μετά τα μεσάνυχτα".



My photo
i have nothing to declare, but a can of tuna