untitled.31.03

"it takes a crane to build to build a crane...", "...it takes a thought to make a word and it takes some words to make an action.."

some rain and a few cigarettes later i made the call, it wasnt difficult to believe in rejection. the sound of your voice still manages to give me butterflies, i believe in eternity, in love, in good will. The city looked like a small hub of ladybugs, black ladybugs - from the roofs it looked like everybody was a busy ladybug and i was one stranger in the night. shame i hadnt thought of it earlier, the meaning of timing never seizes to amaze me. i smell pot, do people still smoke pot? i walk through the square and imagine all the sex that goes on in here - late night adventures with much action and few words. there's a sign for a lost puppy on a tree, suddenly there's many more around me. M once told me that puppies build their personalities according to our skills of parenthood. who would let go of this little angel and why wasnt he taken care of? his name is pete. the puppy. so if your dog is goes missing, you put a sign on a tree and you hope that someone is going to call you. if you loose your love do you wear a t-shirt with your cell number on it? do you hope? flowers blossom on hope, kids go to sleep on xmas eve night with hope, pregnant mothers hope.

so, you had dinner plans. you cannot cancel. you said if you had known earlier you would. i kinda fell for it again. i believed you and i hope that next time it will be me having dinner with you. perhaps. G had a date with S. N was seeing V and so on... i was walking home in the rain, my umbrella at hand and my thoughts making words. songs, perhaps tunes i have no recollection over today. glossy pavements and glittery lamp posts. the tress heavy with rain and shiny like crystal. i should get some take out - perhaps something heavy and oily. some ice-cream too, i have apple pie at home. i bake these days.

the keys in the door, clothes off and the dvd is playing. i cant seem to hear my thoughts, no words no more. can anybody out there feel me? cos i dont seem to feel myself. David just cheated on Mikey, no hope there either. perhaps they'll move to Portland. Mikey is leaving Pittsburg to be with him. David is my dream man. he reminds me of P. the rain is still orchrestrating a requiem out there. Debbie is giving Mikey a lesson on hope, Justin is out of the hospital. Pain is an everyday thing. Mikey is unsure of the move. why do we spent most of our adult lives looking for that special someone and when we find him we try to push him away. do we not know whats good for us or do we pretend to know for the sake of sanity.

i am dating a movie character. i cant seem to get enough of him. am i projecting emotions and feelings in an unsavoury attempt to live? my cigarette burns away, the bus lets people out and the ice in my coke melts away. David moves to Portland. Alone. where is Portland? Oregon, the state of fleeing and seeking. he seems dutifully driven.

ciao David.

self and defence

do we need to defend our self to fend for ourselves? must we learn to keep ourselves protected to protect others from it? does the real danger in hurting oneself, lie in oneself entirely or do we need to maintain "distance" to go a "long way"?!

last night i had another encounter with the x-files. to some, it might just be a tv series, to others its much more than that - and its that plentiful of circumstancial "more" that brings me to a halt this morning. i just had a thought - why does it rain when i'm happy? or is it, "...i'm only happy when it rains?..." sounds from the past and notes for the future.

the coffee machine whistled away and the scent of a man lingered in the room. a man who got up this morning feeling rather blue, made coffee, put on his sunday best and walked to work with determination and a few bags. there's dust on the shelf so i take the duster in my hand and start to neurotically spread it around - are thoughts like dust? do we scatter it around temporarily and then when it piles up again, do we use a duster to make it alright again?! i have no wine, there's some nuts in a small jar up on the shelf. i should run to get some strawberries - perhaps gets some dessert too from the delicatessen downstairs. milles feuilles was your favourite - is still for all i know. a thousand layers - layers of the skin, the dermis, the epidermis etc etc... layers of the heart, unfolding, enclosing, hiding, protecting.

the door bell rings and you enter. once again i let you in my house, in my space.com and you invade with unerving ease. it almost irritates me that i let myself down once more. i wonder, is there a chance for a reunion? your hands seem dry again, perhaps you have been neglecting them, perhaps you have been neglected. you chain smoke, you seem agitated and that keeps me alert. the weather has never been discussed so much and i jump into the conversation with hunger - i pose questions, i suggest scenarios that would open up a whole new world. you seem to be lost, feeling guilty and empty but your face suggests nothing but defense. the phone rings, you watch tv, just like we used to do on a weekday. i take the call, almost in need of the sound of another voice. i think of what you said, i hear the calles voice and i watch tv like a hawk. i am dispersed in thoughts and thoughts are dispersed like dust. i forgot to clean the bathroom - i should have cleaned the bathroom. in a twist of irony (i still believe, someone up theres is laughing with me) you get up and move to the bathroom. i should have cleaned the bath tub. you take your jacket into the bedroom - just like we did then.

in a swift change of time, a sudden cold turn of clockworks i am back in the zone - the safety zone that you offered me. you would rise and hug me every morning, you'd call me about 200 times during the day, we would talk about the weekend and improvise on some everyday aspects. at night i would usually cook and you'd bring the wine. your jacket would hang on the door knob and you'd always take your shoes off, out on the balcony. you had a thing about the balcony - the terrace as you'd all it. in just seconds my world was turned and i was forced to leap in faith. with or without you. alone. together.

things are not what they seem. i let myself back into the hurt zone. do we ever learn? does a string of unfortunate events make us better people or just hurt people? when do we learn to keep ourselves sheltered from the menace? its like snow-white and cinderella? are they still trapped in the same fairytale or have they learned from their mistakes and managed to get out of it? have they abandoned the idea of a prince charming and have they taken a job? do they have anonymous casual sex and do they have a social security number?!

security is everything. safety. sensibility. insecurity is horror. self and others - where does the defining line begin? when do we become safe? when we rescue our self or when we allow others to save us?

never on a sunday

so suddenly i entered the world of half naked men and dancing queens. the red door, half wood, half metal had age marks written all over it. the women standing by the door smiled, the dj was spinning and so was my head. he was there, searching for his next kissing mate. almost like a vampire. music, makes the people, madonna, gin, t-shirts. the smoke was penetrating my lungs, i smoked too many cigarettes - its almost like that scene from "requiem for a dream" where the sound of the sizzling end of a cigarette burns away as the inhaler drowns with death. a pair of eyes are starring - i feel a hand on my shoulder, music pulsing like drums in my ear.

i exit and i face the rising sun. i walk a few blocks and wonder if we have lost the love. i see K who is on his way to the bar. at 5 in the morning he is perhaps looking for love too. he is a renowed journalist, he writes, he wonders, he wanders. a few degrees lower and some hips and stacks of trash later i get into a cab and sink into the back seat. the city lights are slowly going out - some dogs are barking at our car and the taxi driver swears. there's a hint of alcohol in my driver's breath. the radio plays this song: "...εχεις τα ματια, τα ματια που λατρευω..." and i translate: "...you have the eyes i adore..." my pillow smells of lavender.

summertime.... and the living is fine....

the phone rings and the guys are forcing me to go for lunch. its a normality for sundays, a warm awakening from the parties and the drinking. we go up to the castles and the city is unfolding infront of us. this city is warm and cold at the same time. its hospitable in her own way but she stands proud and cold. she's been hurting for years - i am still drunk form last night. the alcohol is still part of my bloodstream. at the table, there's a barytone, a soprano and a tenor. and me. singing. "...summertime and the living is fine...." we eat, chat, drink some more alcohol. my liver is like a sponge these days. i catch myself looking at this young man with beautiful hair and a refined body like a statue, his girlfriend lossely holding his hand, inhaling this beauty of a scenery with her green eyes. the waiter brings the mushrooms, the stuffed aubergine dish, asks for drinks and smooths his apron. the sun is courageous today. is it mostly because i am lacking courage today? since when is the art of compromising, compromising?!!?

different, diveristy, differentiation

'i've lived with this eye since i was three. people stare. you are different. It's hard to be different'
"arynan" | Tuesday 13th March 2007

last night, just before midnight. it rained. i was at home, smoking a davidoff and chewing on a piece of gum. I think i was bored, the lady from upstairs had the washing machine roaring like a lion, she wears heels while doing the house chores. maybe she isnt really a woman - maybe she is an old man of 65, with wrinkles, shaved to the skin, with eyelashes that would make Chi Chi La Rue turn lime green with envy. Perhaps he's different, maybe she's changed.

I finished a diet coke and proceeded to log out of a new website kindly provided by G. many many profiles later and a few suggestive messages from several eager participants i logged out. i looked out of the window, it was still raining so i opened the window wide open and smelled the fresh breeze sifting through the curtains. it felt like a small wave of deodorant, some expensive perfum from paris, a pinch of salt, some lime, a tint of neon lights and a dollop of fresh cream. if i leaned my head back i would have fallen asleep amidst the flowers, some dandelions, maybe a few peonies and some lillies.

suddenly, there was a ping! it came from my mac, it was another eager participant from another website. he was visiting our virtual room from Serbia - at the age of three he traumatised his eye with a knife - negligence, maybe ignorance, i cannot say. he has spent his life helping others, he has worked for the UN, other organisations aiding the poor and the unfortunate. there was a hint of intelligence in his writings, maybe he reads a lot, in fact i know he does - he is an english teacher as well. stevenson, words, verbs, the old queen on a note of five pounds. he shared some stories from his travels. japan, africa, everybody staring at this left eye. Left eyed Serbian. we talked for several hours, he was pleasant and i was pleasantly surprised!

i want to be myself, be who i am for who i am. the little things that comprise me, make me, fail me, entertain me - thats me. some freckles, extensive hair loss, that skin condition which wrecked my holiday last summer, hell maybe i even snore at night. i like to categorise my shirts in my closet, i enjoy reading magazines backwards. maybe i am the hunter, maybe i am the prey. who is to say?

B U

quote #002

"...οτι θυμάσαι δε βουλιάζει..."
μιλτος Π.
24.02.07

bed, bath and beyond

the crease on my pillow woke me up this morning. It was right in the way of my eyelid and its presence caused my brain to start churning. the smell of lavender, a few cars and an incomplete symphony of noisy travellers passing by my window, is starting to flirt with the idea of my urban setting. i listened to the footsteps - some heels and a stroller. i need to get up! i turn over my sheets, sit up in bed and think twice - its too early, maybe the street lamps aren't off yet! a phone rings down the corridor, what does one have to say at 7 in the morning?! and if one has something to say, why doesnt one say it in person?!

i fell back in bed, in slow motion, making non precise groans and flirting once again with morpheus. he is rarely there these days - well, hardly anyone is. so much space in a large bed. creases everywhere and no one to hold them down. 4 pillows, an extremity of empitness, the phone rings again and this time there's a reply. this bed has seen some good days, some ugly days and some fun days. i wonder, how many years pass till you make your bed, a space so unique that it feels solely yours? without the sense of emptiness? the smell of lavender fades out easily, the scent of a man doesnt! i close one eye and try to focus on the lampshade across from me. it used to be the first light i saw when you woke up, when your alarm went off and alarmed me for the day. it was then i realised that you were in my life, the annoying ringtone, the teaspoon beating on the glass and some aftershave. memories of a boy. keys turn and the day begins...

i go into the bathroom, look me in the eyes and smell some deodorant. the window is wide open, there's no toilet roll and i think you left the milk out of the fridge. i swim in my bathtub without a noise, i remember that photo exhibition we saw with P on the streets with undies hanging from a line across the faded walls of an old mansion. there was a bed in one of those photos, black and white but still an unmade made bed. i should make mine - its been a while since i had to make my own bed. coffee, cigarettes and my keys. i'm out the door. i run into the lady with the red hair, she habitates next to me. she's smiling and makes me wanna ask her about her bed. she's taking the trash out and in the bag there's an old photo. i notice her teeth, she's not that old but she's got yellow teeth - maybe she smokes too much.

i walk to work

sunday mo(u)rning - is it better to "fake" it than be alone?!

Is it better to "fake" it than be alone?!
Last night i didn't fake it - i was alone! Drinks with friends, "couple" friends is the penultimate string of fortunate accidents. Once you step out into the night, one with a lunar eclipse in fact, you are bound to run into difficulties disquised as beau people who will escort you to heaven! How does one survive as "single people" in a city of infinite possibilities??? Or so they claim! Do they still shoot single people or is it my understanding that they are ostracized into outer space where they are forced to watch repeats of the Bold and Beautiful?!?!?

Having had an amazing night with my "couple" friends i returned home to a couple of thoughts. In a city of possibilities is monogamy too much to expect? Are three a crowd and when does one become two? Finally in a world as cynical and incomplete as ours, is love at first sight still possible?! I wonder, does a string of bad dates equal a good one?! Having passed into the "drought" period of time, i can safely say that a string of bad dates eguals a few more!!!

to be continued...

work 2004_#001

quote #001

"if you want to improve, be content to be thought foolish and stupid..."
unknown

Today i had a thought

today i got thinking about relationships. there are those that open you up to something new and exotic, those that are old and familiar, those that bring up loads of questions, those that bring your somewhere unexpected, those that bring you far from where you started and those that bring you back!!!

but the most exciting challenging and significant relationship of all is the one you have with yourself.. and if you find someone to love the "you" you love... well... thats just fabulous....