you and your news

where should I go, where can I hide?
So that I won't know what I know
so that it won't be true


but that's life, hey?

I want to fly, I need a man with wings

The amount of joy that I want from a relationship with a man!

The amount of fulfillment!

I want everything.

I am like a beautiful fire, love is like a beautiful fire, I want all the air, I want to burn alive.

A guy who is capable of that; 

who loves me enough; 

who likes me enough; 

who is involved enough, awake enough, alive enough, attentive enough, alive enough, awake enough to give me that; 

to move with me – well, he would want always be with me, to become eternal with me, to dispel time from our relationship. 

He would want to make our relationship eternal, to free it, to liberate it, 
to break it out from the prison – the constraints – of time. 

This you can take for granted.

So if your boyfriend doesn’t want to marry you – then, there is more than one thing wrong.

the past is not the past

I will never be rid of you
You are my love, my pain
You are written in my memory, in the soil of the earth on which I walk
We belong to each other
We affect each other
Let us be careful.

I will turn this sand into joy, this water into wine
I will turn this love into a sunset.
This air, into a dance.

Hey you, I shall never be rid of you

long hot summer

On a long hot summer day, under the sun, in the golden meadow.
In the depth of the forest there are mouyiouthkia
On the beach, amongst the stones.
I still love you.

a little wiggle and a jiggle

What do I mean? I don’t know what I mean let me see. Let me be honest and see.

Sometimes you need to blab to get to the point of what you want to say.

Sometimes I need to write, on this sheet, where I can be completely honest, where I can say whatever it is I mean, so that I can see what I mean. So that I can tell you what I want to say.

How do I wiggle my way out of this one without seeming crazy? I don’t. I can’t wiggle my way out of this one, I can’t back out sideways while your eyes are on me. That goes against our agreement. Be genuine. Share. That was our agreement.

Ok, so I am not satisfied with everything that was said. I don’t like it. We agreed to be friends, I led that discussion. But I don’t want you to see me as a friend. Not really.

I can’t tell you that. That cannot be said. So how do I explain my little jerk movement then? How do I wiggle my way out of this one? Do I say women are a little crazy? Do I say “I don’t know it is just an instinct, just a feeling. Not all feelings are reasonable? I don’t know what I meant, let me think about it?”

Do I lie to you like that? Strait to your face? Do I not say a thing?

How do I wiggle my way out of this one now?

words

Words words words

We use them to stone people with

We use them to suffocate life

We use them to strangle babies

To segregate, to end.

Do you want to relate to me? Do you want to express?

Come and sit next to me

Lie next to me on the floor

Lets not say a thing.

a bucket of gasoline wants to be oxidized does it not?

I want to be the one you call for, the one you need the one you go for, the one you are interested in, the one you love, the one you get your love from, the one you talk to in the mornings, the one you pull close to you. The one you reach over to and pull close to you.

I want to look into your soul and see what is there. I want to look into your heart, I want to look into your mind, I want to burn down this wall and see you naked and standing there. I want you to see me.

I am caring and I am loving and I will do what I can for what is good for the other. I will try never to put my own wants first. I will be your friend and allow you all the freedom and all the space that you can take. Do the same for me. I will allow you all this space because I want to see you dance. I want to see you move. But this is not a kindergarten. This is not a safe patted room. This is not a cosy pillow. I am a room full of fire, I am a room full of light. I am a room with big windows where the sun is bright. Play with me and set me alight.

I am flame and you are a bucket of gasoline. Deal with it.

Are you coming? Or will you just be just a poem?

this time

This time, when I had a feeling, I didn’t suppress it

I didn’t plan it I didn’t organize it

Fuck you, I didn’t stay under water

I will not drown all my children

I will not give you all my babies to eat

This time when I felt it I just felt it,

I will not put it to sleep.

03. march. 2012

This time I am free

God gave me rules and I follow them

But he never said do not feel

He never said be neat.

God I feel. But everything I feel. Every reality I touch with my heart,

I feel for You.

Every love I feel is for You.

hm

I want to talk about love again hey yes, me and you, in the middle of the night.

If in love I catch on fire and I burn and my spark becomes a blaze

I am allowed to do that

If I am neat but also messy

If I am gentle and peaceful but also intense and deep. I mean deep to the core

I mean intense until the end. The whole part.

I am allowed that.

What if life is a fire burning up in my veins

What if my blood is a fire, a burning heat, a red heat a flame rushing

Rushing through my limbs.

What if I am made of gold, what if I get so very hot and I do not burn

What if this passion is pure

It is free

It is love

It is pure and so it is not a passion at all

It is real and it is the life rushing living alive in my hands

What if I hold the fire in my palms

I play with it like a ball

I squeeze it in my hands like a flame.

If you do not like to be hot, if you do not like the light of heat

If you want to sit in the dark, in the slow

Or if you don’t care, then step aside. Fair, fair enough

But the life in me – the love in me (they are the same) -

It is a fire

A burning flame, a flow of fire hotter than fire, an essence outside my words, an essence we have never seen, an essence I cannot tell you.

A fire burning is my blood. I like the heat. It is me. I will burn with it.

I am made of gold and I burn not.

Look at the ball of flame in my hand. What else is there to say?

03.march.2012

Only Art

These thoughts, these feelings.

Only Art opens up its space to take them.

Only Art fits them.

Only Art hears them.

Only Art lifts this burden off from me and lightens.

Art, you shelter me

you hear me. 

An original piece, or, whatever

I write an original piece.

I make a study of science.

My blood flows onto the sheet of paper

and I say, ‘look, in here are red blood cells

this flows in my body whole,

and it needs oxygen.

We need oxygen.

And we are in a room of smog

thwarted;

or laughing on laughing gas’.

Or,

sometimes I say

‘I am here at the top of a hill

the sky is so clear

the air is so lovely

and I am happy’.

And you say

‘whatever…

yea….

that’s so personal…’

What?!

Should I just take some paints

And draw you some still-life landscape

So that you can say

‘Oh,

yea!

I’ve been there!’

a public confession

Dear Evro,

I have hurt you in many ways. I have behaved mistakenly regarding you in many ways.

I was in love with you, but that inloveing was not mature, it was not love. And this manifested over and over again. I still, to this day, have not loved you in a manner worthy of the grace that God showed us.

In a love between a man and a woman - in an erotic union, - one must be willing to put all selfishness behind them. To put their self aside, and to dedicate their heart; their mind; and their labor – as that is what is necessary – for a good genuine relationship; a partnership; a sy-zigisi to be between the couple.

I was not ready to give myself, to love another person, so that together we may have created a good union, a good home and a good family. I was not willing to feed our love and to care for it so that it were built into a home where peace and joy can flourish. I was not ready or willing to give myself in love, and to work for another – for you.

But nevertheless, I took. I took of your time, of your life, of your body, of your heart and of your mind. I feasted on your being, I drank from your water, and then like a thief I left. I looked only to my own needs, to my own interest, to my own wounds and problems. I looked at my self, I cared for myself. I demanded that you also care for me, and I loved you not. Not practically.

I was not ready for the immenseness of a love with a man. But I took it nonetheless. I ate it for free. I spat it out.

And then still, ever since, I have not put all selfishness behind me, not devoted myself to the work that is needed for both of us to heal the wounds we have made on each other, nor to repair our path together.

I looked always to myself and to my own needs – like a desperate child. I never lifted the burden that was ours. I never spent the time to clean the room from the stench of the dead that we left behind us locked up.

I looked at you with disappointment, feeling only my own hurt, my own shame, or my own guilt. I needed. I have needed you so much. But what have ever I given? I have looked at you with disgust, with disappointment, with need, with hurt. I have never forgiven you for letting me pick up something so heavy, for letting me drop it, for letting me stare – like a rabbit caught in the headlights – at the broken pieces that lay about me. Everywhere I have walked, I have walked with bare feet, on pieces of glass. I have never forgiven you for letting me.

By always trying to get away, I have never been free. By avoiding all responsibility that was mine, I have never lightened my burden.

I haven’t ever loved you, for I have looked only to my own needs. But that is the path of sorrow only. Forgive me now for being so heavy a burden on your heart and mind. For pushing you to shut down your senses, to stop looking, and so to loose so much of your communion with the reality that feeds us and embraces us with life. For being a locked door. For clutching so stubbornly to the key; for making you an exile in your own land. Forgive me for being a wall that keeps you out of the garden.

I melt down that wall. I forgive you now, please forgive me.   

this january

I am a poet.

Peace engulfs me.

Fresh air surrounds me.

Friendly creatures visit me,

and tell me of their paths.

Love, joy, and an array of colors and textures lie neatly folded in the top drawer.

Where I live,

the birds talk and the wind chants.

The grass tells tales.

Books are alive and some of their characters are real.

The sunlight can dance

Music is the same thing as color,

and movement and sound.

Everything here is the alive.

And they all confess.

They all bow to the same God.

and silently, I pray with them.

I was looking into the shed, at the same place where I always look.

But something new happened!

A bird from a book came out of the pages and sat on the bookshelf top.

It flapped its wings.

It flew up to the top of the room, tapped its peak on the glass panel,

And dropped back down to where I was looking.

It buried itself under some clothes,

and going after it,  

I found a space bigger than I had thought.

I followed it and found a door.

I opened the door and found a garden.

ena fili apo mia fili

sthn athhna eimai kainourgia. niotho kainourgia. psari. 
i am not loving it or hating it.. i am just standing  there- staring at this weird city-creature breathing heavily around me . i am just watching it. 
watchinv the rude ppl- watching the girls with the too much make up- watching the hippy-foititokosmo. the old men flirting like they are teenagers. pou oullos o kosmos opoias dipote ilikias mila sta handfree esto tzai an den exoun na kratoun tipote tzai apla perpatoun mes to dromo- the complexarismenous antres pou nomizoun oti an en lion eygenikoi enna tous poume gay. tzai ton omorfo kosmo. eshi  polla omorfo eksoterika kosmo. esoterika en ksero, tous metanastes /tsigganous pou kikloforoun me ta karotsakia tou superparket tzai anakatefkoun ta skoupithkia gia pramata na poulisoun tzai siderika ktl. 

h sygkatoikish paei kala, emena irte mou polla naturally tzai en ediskoleftika katholou.

eimai noikokira. sazw to spiti tzai mairefko.prepei na to paradexto. alla its not as boring as it sounds. i wish i never had to work again andi could spend my time cooking cleaning and studying.
i am not studying anything though.

 my mind is blank most of the time and i am over analysing my self and my situation and i am stuck in the favlos kiklos . this of course hasnt started now.. its been going on for a while and i remeber expressing it to you and talking how feel like  " skeftoume mono to kolo mou ouli mera" remeber ? ok its abit less now but i still feel it. i might be becoming boring


i am still failing, most of the time, to see and interact with anything that doent directly touch my everyday life.. no not even that ..that doent touch/offend or μειωνει me.

i might need another book recomendation from you.

now YOU tell me more
 exw tzai alla na sou pw alla siga siga.. twra epias me se fasi ranting

one

to have one's face turned towards God
and their heart raised on high
and their hands towards other people
is the only way for man to stand up strait. 

a third dedication

The Heart Can Change Several Times In One Moment

The heart can change several times in one moment:

to good or evil,

to faith or unbelief,

to simplicity or cunning,

to love or hatred,

to benevolence or envy,

to generosity or avarice.

O, what inconstancy

O, how many dangers

O, how sober and watchful we must be

 - Father John of Kronstad - 

a second dedication

Love

Though I speak with the tongues of men and of angels,
 but have not love,
 I have become sounding brass or a clanging cymbal.

And though I have the gift of prophecy,
 and understand all mysteries and all knowledge, 
and though I have all faith, 
so that I could remove mountains, 
but have not love, 
I am nothing.

And though I bestow all my goods to feed the poor,
and though I give my body to be burned,
 but have not love, 
it profits me nothing.

Love suffers long and is kind;

love does not envy;

love does not parade itself, is not puffed up;

does not behave rudely,

does not seek its own,

is not provoked,

thinks no evil;

does not rejoice in iniquity, but rejoices in the truth;

bears all things, believes all things,

hopes all things, endures all things.

Love never fails.

But whether there are prophecies, they will fail;

whether there are tongues, they will cease;

whether there is knowledge, it will vanish away.

For we know in part and we prophesy in part.

But when that which is perfect has come,

then that which is in part will be done away.

When I was a child, I spoke as a child,

I understood as a child, I thought as a child;

but when I became a man, I put away childish things.

For now we see in a mirror, dimly, but then face to face.

Now I know in part, but then I shall know just as I also am known.

And now abide faith, hope, love, these three; but the greatest of these is love.

- St. Paul - 

I know a gypsy girl

I knew a gypsy girl,

when I was in Athens working at a restaurant.

I was young, and she was younger,

a child.

She would come to see me

She called me her friend.

She showed me the secrets of that city.

Behind little doors and under little tires,

where she played, and worked, and spent her days.

Treasures of glass that she held dear

The secret spaces, where the world was hers

Where the sun reached and flowers grew.

She gave me a gift once.

With pride and happiness, and the excitement of a child, she brought me a present.

I took it and gladly I said thank you.

After all, that girl truly was my friend.

Behind the doors of closed closets and under little tires, where purity grew and flowers blossomed,

she liked me and we were friends.

What she gave me was a skirt, a mini skirt,

of such ‘bad quality’ that it looked like something a street-walker might wear.

I knew I would never put it on,

but I smiled

and I said thank you

and I was glad for the gift.

But I have lost that gift. I probably gave it away, since I knew I would never put it on.

And how ashamed I am now!

And how I regret that now!

How my memory of her that is happy, is mixed with sadness, and it bring me tears.

How now, I would give my whole closet full to have that skirt again,

And I would wear it with pride.

2.

I saw a gypsy girl once

When I was in Athens working at a restaurant.

A young woman, a small little lady

With a bucket of roses resting on her hip

hugging it with her arm for some comfort some support.

With hair bleached the color of gold

A young girl growing up

A young fresh face

I was working, serving at the square

I saw her standing there, facing an older man

He sat across her with some others

He was very very nervous

He was very very insolent

He leaned back in his chair, he was very stiff

He played aggressively with his kompoloi to look calm

He looked very upset.

He said to her: ‘I don’t know you. I don’t know her. I have never seen you before’

His voice was loud

It wanted to affirm

It wanted to push her

It wanted everyone to believe with certainty.

He didn’t want that moment between them to seem at all intimate.

She teased him. She stayed there and playfully teased him

With a smiling face.

Wasn’t it because she was shocked?

Wasn’t it because she felt the frost?

And the frost coming over her stopped her?

She smiled but wasn’t she sad?  

In that moment, wasn’t she learning,

That a man’s lie can be so very hard?

I should have hugged her, I should have cried for her her tears

I left her there, in all the violence, with only her bucket to hold her

(And those tears I never cried drown my liver)

How can I forget that?

People, how can we forget her?

How can we forget that?

Do you think that any house you build, however high,

Any carpet you lay,

Any silly old thing you get,

Any success you have,

Do you think that might delete this MINUTE?

Do you think you can get far away,

Do you think you can wash that?

3.

look up, and look at the sun. It still

shines!

You will be six feet under.

That is, with six feet of soil above you.

And you will hear the bacteria of the earth speaking.

They will say: ‘we saw this little girl, she roamed in the city and she collected treasures. In her memory she kept all the gifts, all of the treasures that God let her see!’

And you will say: ‘When!?, Where?!, I never saw that’

And you will say: ‘I had my own gold’

And they will say: ‘we had that for breakfast’

I am in an ocean of sin

I have been false myself

Fake, unreliable

I took men’s hearts, I ate them, then I got up and ran without paying

Like as Italians do when they come to the Greek islands

And they laugh as they run down the pebbled streets, and they feel proud of pulling off this cheat and being cleverer than the restaurant people. But actually it isn’t funny.

My falseness was vast, like an ocean

My fakeness runs deep, like the sea.

Whom can I judge and whom can I accuse when my own wound is so big that the whole place stinks?

I don’t judge you people, I warn you

I tell you, I have a noose around my neck

It is at the end of a chain

Every person I have yet hurt

Every time I was fake

Is a loop holding me down.

Every sin I have is like a rock in my stomach and I cannot digest it.

Every time I get too high, the hands of those I have cheated grasp at my clothes.

I cannot fly I am not free

Every one who has tasted my falseness is a voice in my ear.

You, and you, I see your face. Still. And always I will. You make me humble

Friend, if you can hear me, only the Good can set you free. Only rising to a standard beyond ones self can make man as he should be.

I am chained to the floor,

And as made of soil, I sink into the dust.

But look beyond that mountain,

There is a light!

  

to my fellow man

Man, pettiness has you by the balls
kick off that shit
loose that slave-driver