Tuesday, June 24, 2014

summer skies (and human junk)

Blissfully blessed, having a blast, lying on fresh, puffy towel spread on flat stony surface, skin tightly chilled after a dive slowly drying under warm morning sun peek-a-booing behind furry cloud - huge cotton puff up above revealing the celestial orange as it moves slowly in the shape of an immense heart accompanied by the soundtrack of waves licking  away the hard rock candy. The sky is in love. Two girls break nature's symphony with their twenty-first century atonic screaming."Get in! that's my girl! It's not cold once you are in, do it! Do it now!" "I can't, it's freezing! Oh, my God!" "Just jump!" (5 minutes of repetitive exchange of useless sounds that could inaugurate the new school of advanced torture methods). Finally, big splash, as heavy body-bomb hits water. "Oh! Oh! God! I'm gonna die!", "No you 're not!", "I tell you I am frozen" (another 5 minute  demo). Apollo's disk is out now, giving us the full frontal while the heart-cloud changes its emotional state with a different emoticon. It transforms into a perfect fist with the middle finger protruding. The sky has a heart that turns into a hand that gives the loud girls the middle finger. The sky is an entity in love who also happens to have a great sense of humor and can read my mind, occasionally. 



The conscientious valedictorian crickets' choir announces the summer nights on the island. Pitch black velvet perforated by a million stars. At first, placid and serene and hopelessly romantic and then as busy as Manhattan traffic on a weekday rush hour. The sky-watching vacationeers get to see a real super production from their first class seats. Initially, the show starts with the one or two shooting stars that jump-start the system and get the body's chemicals flowing, emotions streaming and promises rolling. People feel very special to be witnessing meteorites hitting the atmosphere, breaking apart, bursting into flames and evaporating into oblivion. From a safe distance violence is transformed into visual magic. Then, appears an airplane with its headlights still on as it takes off from a nearby airport, sending an outwordly beam of light deep into the infinite blackness. One more sip of wine and, what the hell is this? Is it a plane? No, it is too high up and far away. It looks more like a satellite, but as it slowly moves across the sky it suddenly flashes more light and dies out after its bright second. Must be some kind of debris from a space station or whatnot. Not long into that moment and and the next space oddity passes by. Same slow course, bright explosion and fading out. More celestial junk. Wait a minute, what is that one now? It slowly moves, looks like a star but keeps on writing its course close towards the Big Dipper, steadily and uniformly until it fades away into the distance. This is no debris, or broken piece. This is the whole thing at work. It is probably watching us watching it. I tell you, try sky-gazing from the scarcely lit countryside for half an hour and you'll get tired by the action-packed view up there. Starry skies are beautifully packed with action and manmade junk. 

Friday, June 13, 2014

at the circus

You have this beautiful thick, high-tech tent made of Hydrogen Sulphide, Ammonia, Particulate Matter, Endotoxins, Carbon Dioxide and Methane. It is not opaque and yet it is not transparent. You don't see it and you can't see through it. It covers well the whole circus. A true industrial miracle. The structure is permanent and it expands while the permafrost yields. Something's got to give, as they say. The tent embraces the spectators and keeps them warm and cozy during the great show. Maybe a bit too warm at times, but our species is resilient to change and will adjust if needed. Don't they say that discomfort is the new comfort zone? 
You have purchased your tix for the show, well in advance. Tix stand for tax. You paid dearly for them at your local tax office. Your seats are numbered. You are wondering if you want to be sitting at seat number K475. You have paid much more than any entertainment you will ever get in return, but one must watch and applaude the spectacle from the seat that is assigned to him. So, don't think, sit down, don't stand, the show is about to begin! The performance will not last for long. Before you know it you will be pushed and shoved at the long exit line, packed like cattle, chocking at the smell of burning hair and perspiring armpits, engulfed by a Frankenstein-Leviathan made entirely of other people's bodies and you will be puked out in the streets. Νow, quiet!
The whole shebang will be remembered as pure apeshit nonsense. Animals pretending to be humans and humans proud to be monsters. No intricate intelligent plot, just disconnected, random gags. For a minute, during the performance, you will think that you caught a glimpse of someone who seemed intellectually evolved, but you know that if he were thoughtful he wouldn't be caught dead on that penny dreadful 'power meets sadism meets hunger games' scene, so you will blame your imagination for the impression. The chains on the animals will be painfully tight. The bear's neck will be bleeding, but that's what it takes for the animal to dance shamefully on its hand limbs. The lions will have to jump through the circles of fire, at the trainer's command. Fear of fire is overcome when starvation is no option. The elephants will line up obediently, trunk to tail, to avoid flogging. Fear of pain makes patient subjects and subject patients.They will be standing still as kids climb on their backs to have their pictures taken by pick-up truck driving dads. Flash, flash. Then, the clowns and freaks will storm the scene, making the crowds laugh out loud (lol) with their horid disformities, their exaggerated clumsiness and self-inflicting injuries. People always enjoy watching misfits falling on their heads. Makes them feel better about themselves, fall in love with their two arms and one head. At that point, during the hard laughter it will get too stuffy under the high-tech tent. Some of you will not be able to breath, especially children. Enter the Pharmaceutix - grand sponsors- with their much advertised inhalers for instant relief. Breath in, breath out, it works, it sells, success, end of distress and ready for the final part, the time of the monkeys. They will be dressed with casual wear like the human spectators and they will even act casually like them. If they don't mimic well, they will be in for a fatal experiment by a non-profit for the wellness of humanity. In the middle of the chimp/human kinship demo someone will scream 'Fire!' and there will be a lot of light everywhere, smoke and the smell of organic matter burning. You will not know how you became part of the human tsunami that carries you towards the exit. There will be injuries for sure and maybe fatalities. You will be lucky to get out with a bruise and a laceration or two. The organizers will have not taken any measures for accidents. The fire escape will not work. The sponsors will pay off the media not to give out any information. They will call it an 'independent incident' And hush it. You will never be able to find out what exactly happened.There will be too much noise and chaos and you will not be able to see because you are too short. Or is it shortsighted?  Something or other, what do I know?

Friday, June 06, 2014

emptying a closet after 17 years

How can time shrink to fit in less time? Hours ago
I started collecting her every pink and every bow,
A few days from the moment she stood up to walk,
Months away from the morning she uttered her first talk.

Her feet filled the miniature things like perfect cupcakes
Overflowing their liners - like the ones mommy makes-
Their heart-melting perfection I was kissing the other day.
How did a whole life happen between yesterday and today?

Alice must have ravished the 'eat me' cookies from the jar
And.. shazaam! She has a car, she drives far, goes to some bar.
I am not allowed to follow or watch her from afar. What a shock!
I am sentenced to suffer forever awake, till the key turns the lock.

From am to pm, in just hours, her clothes burst at the sims,
One leg out of the door, this house is too small for her dreams.
Her bedroom feels to her like a cupboard for a mop and a broom.
You'll always hear her complaining, "I don't get enough room!"
And to think, twas just yesterday she was comfortable in my womb.

Sunday, June 01, 2014


Past tense was sans serif, condense and with sense of moderation.
I see me, small and bedazzled with a pocket full of half-eaten candies
And a balloοn for a heart, with one hand sheepishly grasping on the
Hidden indulgence and the other tied tight to the parental mooring.
Balance, definitely.

What was happening then was a relentless regime exorcised by the
Optimism of decorative patterns on maternal dresses and bathroom
Tiles and by the reassuring benevolence of homemade ice-creams.
Balance, necessarily.

Presently, tense, a memory that holds on barely.
Too heavy a name, too empty a space, no showtime at all.
The weight of what was: a long career on a veteran wall.
- its traces tell stories of resignation, denial or disaster.
A once leading actor's ghost leaning on the indefinite
postponement of his show's final cancelation;
Unwilling to entertain or be entertained,
Withdrawn or replaced; refusing to expire and be buried
In the caskets of indifferent strangers' forgetfulnesses.
A 'once-upon-a-time' sentenced to remain under the
Custody of a delayed 'And-so-the-story-goes',
In a present as bold, loud and chaotic as the
Howls of hooligans after a football match.
Balance, no. How? Desperately!

The sky timeless and iconic
Does not care for any order or design,
Knows neither grammar, nor syntax.

verses from 'On visiting a borrowed house in Arcadia' by A.E. Stallings


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