ΘΑΡΡΟΣ

A complaint letter.

Dear X,

I am writing to you with reference to all the broken pieces I found last night in my apartment. But in order to clarify the intentions of my complaint letter, I have first to set the story straight.

Last night I went out and I drank a lot. (I get drunk too easily: this is a piece of information that might prove menacing to me if you use it improperly.) I got back home alone and after a great effort I managed to find the keys and unlock the door. But the door was already unlocked. Within my fuzzy mind I tried to repeat the sequel of the actions I performed before leaving the house. And at my amazement I verified the fact that I had indeed locked the door. I feared that someone had broken into my apartment but the alcohol had loosened up my resistances so I decided to get in and –if necessary- defend my home and myself. As I passed through the door I took off my shoes not to make the burglar understand my presence. But as I walked slowly and carefully, out of a sudden I felt a piercing pain in my feet. Broken glasses covered the floor, all shiny and sharp. There was no empty space that I could step on but I had to move on- I was determined. My feet started to bleed and I was hurting. I managed to inspect the whole place but no presence of another human being was detected.

And then I remembered. It was Mister X. It was you Mister X who broke into me and dispersed all those glassy bits and pieces all over me. And now Mister X my feet are bleeding. I cannot stand properly. I cannot step properly. I cannot move properly.

Having said that, I believe it is only fair to ask- or even demand- for compensation. It is the least I can ask from you dear Sir.

I thank you in advance and look forward to hearing from you as soon as possible.

Kind regards,

Madam X.

Terrifying and Beautiful

Terrifying and beautiful. I’ll take both, thanks.

“Please, Sir, may I order? Can I have a dish of fear, a dish of dare and a dish of beauty, please?

You know Sir, the other day I went to a restaurant all by myself. I was not really hungry, but really hungry I was. (Not for food.) So, I ordered. I ordered- as I just did- a dish of fear, a dish of dare and a dish of beauty (please). And the waiter looked straight into my eyes and said to me: ‘Do you think my dear lady that if we had these dishes you ask for that I would be working here?’ And then he laughed and left and I left too. So here I am dear Sir, ready to order a dish of fear, a dish of dare and a dish of beauty- please.”

“My dear sweet lady, really, do you think that if we had these dishes that you ask for that I would be working here?” he said. And then he laughed and left and I left too.

Still, very hungry. Very hungry. Indeed.

Η αγάπη είναι διάβολος

Μια φορά κι έναν καιρό ήταν ένα κορίτσι που αγάπαγε τα ρόδια. Τα αγάπαγε τόσο πολύ που δεν τα έτρωγε μόνο, αλλά τα μύριζε, τα άγγιζε, τα χάιδευε. Τα χρησιμοποιούσε για κάθε λογής δουλειά. Συχνά έσκαγε τα κόκκινα σπόρια του ροδιού και λουζόταν τους χυμούς του. Μία φορά το μήνα γέμιζε την μπανιέρα της και πλενόταν μέσα σε αυτούς. Το δροσερό πορφυρό νερό τη ζωντάνευε και την ηρεμούσε. Είχε κάτι από τη γοητεία του αίματος χωρίς το φόβο. Ήταν σα μια ζωή δίχως θάνατο.Ήταν σαν ένα νερό μυθικό, χωρίς κάθαρση. Οι μέρες περνούσαν και το σπίτι γέμιζε ρόδια. Το κορίτσι άρχισε να γίνεται εμμονικό και το σπίτι μέσα καλύφθηκε όλο από αυτούς τους αρχέγονους καρπούς. Τα έπιπλα πια δε φαίνονταν, είχαν καλυφθεί από ρόδια. Άνθρωποι σταμάτησαν να επισκέπτονται το κορίσι μιας και ήταν αδύνατο να κινηθούν μέσα στο σπίτι της. Εκείνη όμως έμαθε να περπατά αλλιώτικα, να κυλάει πάνω στα ρόδια. Τα ρόδια γίναν οι φίλοι της, οι ρόδες της, η ροή της. Το κορίτσι στάματησε να βγαίνει από το σπίτι. Προς το τέλος ξέμαθε να περπατά κανονικά, να πατά τα πόδια κανονικά στη γη, να προσαρμόζεται στον έξω κόσμο. Κλείστηκε στο σπίτι και στον εαυτό της. Άρχισε να αλλάζει μορφή, γινόταν κάθε μέρα πιο κόκκινη, πιο ρόδινη. Άρχισε να στρογγυλεύει, να γίνεται κι η ίδια καρπός. Στο τέλος ξέχασε πως αγαπούσε τα ρόδια. Κι όλο έλεγε: “ Αυτή η αγάπη... αυτή η αγάπη είναι διάβολος”.

Μισώ τη μιζέρια της ποιητικότητας. Όχι της ποίησης.

Μισώ τα ψυχοδράματα. Όχι τα δράματα.

Μισώ το σχόλιο. Όχι το κείμενο.

Μισώ τους δήθεν ποιητές και τους κλαψιάρηδες.

Μισώ την αναβλητικότητα. Όχι την αναβολή.

Μισώ την ψευτιά. Όχι το ψέμα.

Μισώ το σημειωτόν. Όχι το βάδην.

Μισώ τους ανθρώπους χωρίς σκιά. Μισώ τους ανθρώπους χωρίς μιλιά. Μισώ τους ανθρώπους χωρίς σιωπή.

Μισώ τις πολυτέλειες του χρόνου εκείνες που βοηθούνε στη μιζέρια μας.

Μην κλαις. Βγες έξω και πούλα χαρτομάντηλα. Καλύτερα είναι.

Δέντρα

Τώρα δεν έχω όρεξη να γράψω παραμύθια- μα για αλήθεια να μιλώ.

Η αλήθεια είναι πως αγαπώ τα δέντρα αυτά τα σιωπηλά, που λέξεις δε λαλούνε.

Και δε μιλούν γιατί έχουνε τις ρίζες βαθειές στο χώμα. Και έχουν και τον κορμό σκληρό, περήφανο, που κύκλους ζωής μετράει. Και έχουνε και κλαδιά αέρινα που ανθίζουν και μαραίνονται, και ανθίζουν ξανά πάλι.

Και αυτό που αγαπώ στα δέντρα αυτά είναι η σιωπή εκείνη.

Μια σιωπή περήφανη.

Και αυτό που αγαπώ στα δέντρα αυτά είναι η ζωή εκείνη.

Μια ζωντανή ζωή.

Και αυτό που αγαπώ στα δέντρα αυτά είναι η ευθύνη.

Μία αληθινή ευθύνη.

Μα τί μιζέρια δέντρο μου καλό να κλαίω να οδύρομαι να λέω πως φταίνε οι άλλοι. Μα φταίνε βέβαια και αυτοί. Ή μάλλον, φταίξαν. Κάποτε. Στο παρελθόν εκείνο. Στο τώρα αυτό το τώρα σου να πάρεις την ευθύνη. Για τα καλά για τα κακά για αμαρτίες του κόσμου.

Αμυγδαλιά μου ολόλευκη, σταμάτα να θροίζεις. Άφησε πια το ρούχο σου εκείνο το αθώο που ολόασπρο, ακατέργαστο τον κόσμο θε να σώσει. Μα άνθισε, τρεμούλιασε και φίλα το κυπαρίσσι.

Δάφνη και πικροδάφνη μου, είσαι κι εσύ ένα δέντρο. Που πάλεψες και λάλησες και ούρλιαξες ακόμα. Μα δέχτηκες τις ρίζες σου και όρθωσες τα κλαδιά σου.

Ελιά και ελιδάκι μου, κι εσύ είσαι ένα δέντρο. Μπουμπούνισες και ούρλιαξες, γρατζούνισαν τα κλαδιά σου. Μα τώρα στήθηκες ορθή και έτοιμη για να ζήσεις.

Γιατί μιζέρια δεν είναι τα λάθη μας. Μα τα λάθη πάντα των ‘άλλων’.

Till the sacred end

So here I am.

I let my hair hang down as you ask me.

Here I am.

My feet on the ground. My eyes look straight into your eyes. Your eyes. Try to keep them straight too. Be careful- your feet are trembling. Stop that trembling. Take a deep breath. Look at me. I ‘ll breath with you.

And now, let the challenge begin my love. Try to keep your feet on the ground and your eyes straight into my eyes. I look at you. You look at me. I let my hair hang down as you like it.

Now, let the challenge begin. Move one step at a time towards me. I ‘ll do the same, my darling. My love, my darling. I say these words, these words that sound so serious and so ridiculous at the same time.

Now, let the challenge begin my love, my baby, my darling.

(How can a woman and how can a man be so serious and so ridiculous at the same time?)

Now, let the challenge begin. Let the dance bloom. Lets become choreographers, dancers, acrobats of the Dance. Let us bloom.

Take the first step. But be careful darling, don’t allow the satisfaction of this fist step to make you rest. We have to end what we have started. Don’t have illusions. We have to come to the end. The first step is nothing unless it leads you to the end. The end is sacred my love, my baby, my darling.

(So serious and so ridiculous at the same time.)

Ο πάνθηρας

Τί; Μία ιστορία; Θέλεις να σου πω μία ιστορία;

‘Μιά φορά κι έναν καιρό, σε έναν κόσμο μακρινό, ζούσε μια πριγκήπισσα. Η μοναχοκόρη του Βασιλιά Φυλλοκάρδη. Το πρωί- άξια κόρη του πατέρα της- μάγευε τους αυλικούς με τις ντελικάτες κινήσεις της και την απαλή παρουσία της. Οι υπήκοοι την αγαπούσαν γιατί ήταν καλοσυνάτη και τους άκουγε με ενδιαφέρον πραγματικό και έγνοια αληθινή. Όταν όμως ερχόταν η νύχτα, η όμορφη και γλυκειά πριγκηποπούλα αποσύρονταν στα δωμάτια της. Κλείδωνε την πόρτα και έσβηνε όλα τα κεριά που φώτιζαν την κάμαρη της. Άφηνε μόνο ένα- ίσα-ίσα να διαγράφονται σκιές, σκιές του σώματος της. Κι εκεί, μέσα στο ημίφως γδυνόταν. Έβγαζε με ιεροτελεστία τα πολλά της ρούχα ένα-ένα: χορός των πέπλων. Κι όταν πια ανάλαφρη από το βάρος το πριγκηπικό -των κανόνων και των τύπων- έμενε γυμνή, με το φως ενός μόνο κεριού να την χαϊδεύει, έκλεινε τα μάτια και φανταζόταν. Έσερνε κάτω από το κρεββάτι ένα δοχείο χρυσό. Το τραβούσε με προσοχή και το άνοιγε προσεκτικά. Το άνοιγε και από μέσα του έβγαζε πίσσα. Και με την πίσσα άλοιφε το σώμα της όλο- και έπαιρνε δύναμη. Και η απαλή και ντελικάτη πριγκήπισσα γινόταν άγρια, ζωώδης. Μεταμορφώνονταν. Μεταμορφώνονταν σε πάνθηρα μαύρο, σε αιλουροειδές. Και η φωνή της από εύθραυστη και απαλή γινόταν άγρια, μπάσσα, όλο βρυγχηθμούς. Νιαούριζε, γουργούριζε, βογγούσε. Κι έτσι με αυτό το βίαιο ήχο και αυτήν τη βίαιη παρουσία ένιωθε λύτρωση- ξόρκιζε το σωστό και το πρέπον. Και εξουθενωμένη πια, αφού ένιωθε το φως της αυγής να πλησιάζει, με όσες δυνάμεις της απέμεναν έμπαινε στην μπανιέρα την πριγκηπική και με νερό καυτό και σαπούνι πολύ, πλενόταν και καθαριζόταν με μεγάλη προσοχή, με ενδελέχεια: κανένα στοιχείο της νύχτας δεν έπρεπε να μείνει πάνω στο σώμα αυτό. Στο σώμα που θα έβαζε ξανά τα πέπλα, το χαμόγελο το φωτεινό, τα μάτια τα καλοσυνάτα και ολόλαμπρα και τα μαλλιά τα απαλά. Και μία νέα -και ίδια- μέρα ξεκινούσε και πάλι...

Η πριγκήπισσα, κόρη του Βασιλιά Φυλλοκάρδη, πέθανε νέα. Σε ηλικία δροσερή ακόμα. “Μα ήταν τόσο υγιής...πώς έγινε, πώς πέθανε;”, “Από αϋπνία”.’

Σου χαρίζω άλλη μία ιστορία λοιπόν.

Calypso

Once upon a time in a faraway land there was an island. An island of blue, green, yellow and brown. It smelled of the sea, the pine trees, the sun and the rocks.

And on that island, there was I. And my skin smelled of salt. And thus my skin was kissed.

And one day, I swam for hours and hours and tired as I was I got off to the shore. And I found a small cave to rest. And there, there was a man. All tired and wick. He had lost his senses. And I kissed him on his lips and he came back to life. He opened his eyes, he looked at me and said: “Calypso?”. And I said: “Yes, it is I, Calypso that brought you back to life”. And he said: “I knew I would find you again. I travelled the seven seas looking for you. Where were you Calypso? I travelled through time looking for you. Where were you Calypso? I travelled through places and people looking for you. Where were you Calypso?”. And I said: “I was here. Collecting shells and pebbles.”

ΜΕΔΟΥΣΑ

“Γιατί άραγε” αναρωτήθηκα. “Πώς πήγαν έτσι όλα;” Και έκλαιγα και ούρλιαζα τραβούσα τα μαλλιά μου. Κι όπως τραβούσα τα μαλλιά, καινούργιες μπούκλες βγαίναν. Βόστρυχοι μαύροι και στιλπνοί, έτοιμοι να με πνίξουν. Μα εγώ τους πάλευα σκληρά- σίγουρα θα νικούσα. Μα η κόμη μου μεγάλωνε, φύτρωνε, με απειλούσε. Κι εγώ πιά είχα κουραστεί. Λευκή σημαία βγάζω. Παράδοση, παραίτηση, καιρός για ύπνο ώρα. Κι όπως κοιμόμουνα βαθειά ξάφνου άρχισε να βρέχει.Νερό πολύ, νεροποντή, νερό για αμαρτίες. Και σώματα ολοδίψαστα άρχισαν να προβάλουν- κι εγώ μέσα στον ύπνο μου άρχισα να φοβάμαι. Αν δεν ξυπνούσα πια ποτέ, τί θα γινόταν τότε; Τα άλλα σώματα διψούν, βρίσκουν νερό και πίνουν. Μα μες το όνειρο νερό σημαίνει μόνο αέρας. Ξύπνα λοιπόν, ξεδίψασε και πιες νερό του κόσμου.

ΑΗΔΟΝΙ κι ΑΕΤΟΣ

Γεννήθηκα σε φωλιά αηδονιού- από ένα αυγό ξεμύτησα. Το αηδόνι είναι η μάνα μου, και ο αητός ο άντρας της. Κι εγώ παλεύω για να δω, να ανακαλύψω τί είμαι. Έχω την χάρη ενός πουλιού, την κίνηση του αέρα- μα σα νυχτώσει η βραδιά, γίνομαι άγρια, βαριά- όλο θυμό και μένος.
Μέρες περνούν και φεύγουνε κι εγώ ακόμα ψάχνω. Ψάχνω να δω πώς θα με βρω, πώς θα μ’ αναγνωρίσω.
Και να που ήρθε μια στιγμή- στιγμή ακινησίας. Κενή. Αθόρυβη. Ήσυχη. Μα που μιλούσε κιόλας. Και είπε, μου είπε, μίλησε: “Σταμάτα πιά το ψάξιμο, και ηρέμησε τα πάθη”. Κι εγώ την άκουσα τη στιγμή και άρχισα να ανασαίνω.
Κι όπως ανάσαινα και ένιωθα απόλαυση και δέος, ένιωσα άλλο ένα φύσημα- διπλή η αναπνοή μου. Και δίπλα μου πλησίαζε μια δεύτερη ανάσα. Μια ανάσα με άρωμα βασιλικού και γεύση από αλμύρα. Και έκλεισα τα μάτια μου- σταμάτησα την πάλη. Ο φόβος με κατέλαβε, μα δε θα με νικούσε. Εγώ θα είμαι ο αρχηγός- ο κύριος του εαυτού μου.
Και ο φόβος καταλάγιασε, έγινε γλυκειά αγωνία.
Κι εγώ άνοιξα το στόμα μου και άρχισα να μιλάω- να αρθρώνω, να εκφράζομαι, να έχω φωνή δική μου.
Γιατί πριν ήμουνα μουγγή, μα τώρα ξανά μιλάω.

Adieu

I woke up this morning. And I smelled my hair. It smelled sea. I closed my eyes but the sun went through the curtains of my room and through the curtains of my eyes. I had light in my dark. I stretched, I lightly smiled.
I got off my bed. Barefoot, I sought for water to recover. I washed my face, my teeth. And with wet hands I cooled off my skin- neck, arms, back.
I crossed my way to the kitchen. I needed coffee. Not to wake up, but to taste. The heat had already started to cook my summer fruits. A smell of marmalade was all around me.
I yawned.
The telephone rang. “Hello?”. No answer. “Who is this please?”. No answer. Silence on my behalf. Again. “Who is this?”. No answer.
It must be my nightly ghost, bidding adieu.

Η ΜΑΧΗ

Περιμένω έξω από το θερινό σινεμά. Η ζέστη σε παραλύει. Μα, τί έργο θα δω; Δε θυμάμαι, δεν πειράζει. Είπαμε θερινό σινεμά. Αρκεί.
Έχω έρθει νωρίτερα. Περιμένω. Παρατηρώ.
Απέναντι μου ένας μαυρούλης πουλάει την πραγμάτεια του- ξύλινα ζώα, καμηλοπαρδάλεις, χελώνες...Μα, πώς καταφέρνουν να μοιάζουν τόσο δροσερά ακόμα και μέσα στον καύσωνα; Ο πωλητής και τα ξύλινα ζωάκια του- μέσα από τη δροσερή τους όαση- με κοιτούν και με επεξεργάζονται που περιμένω. Ναι, περιμένω- έφτασα νωρίτερα- πάλι.
Παρατηρώ. Στο αριστερό μου χέρι, σε ένα υπερυψωμένο πεζούλι ένα χαριτωμένο μαγαζί με είδη δώρων έχει στήσει σκηνικό. Έχει στρώσει γρασίδι και πάνω του έχει τοποθετήσει ένα μικρό άσπρο τραπεζάκι και πάνω του έχει τοποθετήσει γλάστρες, γλαστράκια, κεριά, κεράκια. Παρατηρώ.
Μέσα σε αυτό το σκηνικό μία αβυσσαλέα μάχη εξελίσσεται. Μία κυρία γύρω στα πενήντα πατάει πάνω στο γρασίδι, πατάει το σκηνικό και το σπάει. Φοράει μια κιτρινωπή μπλούζα που αγκαλιάζει τους γοφούς της και μέσα από αυτή ξεπροβάλλει και ξεχύνεται μέχρι τους αστραγάλους μία φούστα κλαρωτή, σε ανοιχτό γκρι. Τα πόδια που ασφυκτιούν μέσα σε σανδάλια ασημί είναι υποταγμένα στην απόφαση της κυρίας τους να έχουν δάχτυλα με νύχια βαμμένα σε χρώμα πορτοκαλί. Αν ρώταγες αυτά τα πόδια τί θα ήθελαν πραγματικά να κάνουν και πού θα ήθελαν πραγματικά να βρίσκονται θα απαντούσαν: χωμένα στην ψιλή άμμο μίας παραλίας όταν θα έπεφτε το σούρουπο και τα χρώματα στον ουρανό θα ήταν λιλά, πορτοκαλί, ροζ, κίτρινα.
Φορώντας αυτήν τη στολή, η κυρία δίνει μάχη αβυσσαλέα. Τρώει ένα παγωτό ξυλάκι-κλασσικό: κρέμα παγωτό, σοκολάτα επικάλυψη. Το παγωτό όμως λυώνει και απειλητικά κυλάει στα χέρια και απειλητικά κατευθύνεται στα καθαρά ρούχα. Η κυρία δεν μπορεί να το επιτρέψει αυτό. Όσο κυρία κι αν είναι πρέπει να υπερασπιστεί την μπουγάδα και τη στολή. Ξεχνάει πως είναι κυρία και αρχίζει να γλύφει τα χέρια και τα δάχτυλα της. Μπαίνει στον αγώνα επιθετικά. Μία γλύφει το παγωτό, μία γλύφει τα δάχτυλα. Στα διαλείμματα, εξετάζει με προσοχή τα ρούχα και εξασφαλίζει πως παραμένουν ανέπαφα. Και μετά συνεχίζει. Γλύφει τα δάχτυλα, γλύφει το παγωτό, ελέγχει τα ρούχα. Κάτι που ξεκίνησε σα μία απόλαυση- ένα παγωμένο παγωτό μέσα στον καύσωνα, κατέληξε μάχη- ένα στυγνό γαλακτερό ζουμί που απειλεί την καθαρότητα. Ποιός θα κερδίσει;
Μα το καλοκαίρι φυσικά.

Today I am a cat

Today I am a cat. I step on my smooth paws. I walk in silence. I hear. I smell. And all my senses are alert.
Be cautious my little fellow. I observe incognito. I sense you. I follow you. And the minute you start to realize your stalker, I disappear elegantly. And the minute you loose the feeling of having me behind you, you feel the loss. And you weep in silence for that loss. Because you ’ve lost me, that’s why you weep. Because your hallucination was some kind of comfort.
Today, I am a cat. I step on my smooth paws. I roar. I purr. I’m hungry.

A letter

Dear Samson,

This is a warning letter.
I am writing to you because I must warn you. I must warn you about me. About what I am going to do to you. I am going to cut your hair Samson. I am going to cut your beautiful long hair. I know that you are scared. You are scared of me and my scissors. This moment your body shivers from fear. Fear is starting to possess you. Your body.
But now Samson, your body shivers from ecstasy. Because as time goes by, you understand why I must cut your hair. I will tie you in a chair and I will cut your hair. I will cut it off.
I will cut your hair Samson. I will cut your beautiful long hair. I will cut your hair and I will give you back your power.

Love,
Dalida

A wish

One night I could not sleep. I got out of my bed and I got out of my house – a house that was away from crowds, away from lights and away from noise. And then, I looked up towards the sky. And the sky was full of bright shining stars. It was a night of glory.
I closed my eyes and I made a wish. A wish so strong that burnt my eyes. And I started to cry. And my tears moistened my face and my night-dress too. My feet got wet as well.
And then I opened my eyes. My look was still up high, towards the sky. And a strange thing happened there. Among the stars, a star of flesh appeared. A starfish. A sea starfish. But, how and why I wondered. Wasn’t I looking at the sky? The sky and not the sea? Was I in dream?
And then a light breeze blew. And I felt water drops on me. And the breeze kept on blowing and the sky got blurred and I felt more water drops on me. And I started loosing the starfish out of my sight and I got scared. And I tried to reach out for it. And I stretched my body, I stretched my arms to grasp the sky starfish. And after effort I got it and held it in my hands- but my hands were now all wet. And in my mouth I had a taste of salt. And I felt cold.
And I understood. The sky was the sea. The stars were reflections. The starfish was a starfish of flesh. But my wish was my wish and it had come true.
The starfish slipped out of my hands. And I got up, I got into my house, I closed the door, and I went to bed. And fell asleep.

The story of the tree with the secret

Once upon a time there was a tree. A tree that could not grow. A tree that was as short as a bush, but it was a tree. This tree had a secret. It may have been short and small from the outside, but it was tall and big from the inside. It grew inwards and it grew fast. It grew so fast that after some years its branches had expanded through land and sea and it kept going on and on. It would not have been satisfied until it conquered the world.
One day a child needed to rest. It was a child that was lost and needed company. It needed warmth and love. This child knew how to see. It could see beneath and beyond and could feel the deep hidden secrets.
After walks through the day light and after walks through the night shadows, the child found our tree with the secret. And as if it was hypnotized, the child sat under it and fell asleep. And it was dreaming days and nights and in its sleep it cried and laughed and loved and hated.
The time passed by, but the child had not waken up. These dreams kept it captured, hostage of its own imagination. And the child needed to be rescued from itself.
One day the child was crying again. It cried hot tears that watered the ground. Within its fists the child was holding tight the soil that fed the tree. It needed someone to hold, someone to hug.
The tree, that wanted to conquer the world, felt the child. It decided to help it. So, instead of breathing inwards, it started breathing outwards. And thus, it grew outwards and got taller and taller and bloomed and gave birth to fruits, all kinds of them- apples, oranges, peaches, cherries. Oh, it grew so beautifully…
And one day, one apple, one firm shiny red apple fell down. And the child woke up.

Oh voice of Richard

And you were a boy with the promise of a Man.
And you were a boy with a promise of the sea.
And you were my place. My Gentleman of Solitude.
My Gentleman of Solitude you broke into my soul.
And you hurt your Woman.
You never wrote a letter again.
I will sail away.
I will sail away now.
You hurt your Woman again my Man.
I will sail away now.
You were a boy with the promise of a Man.
You are a boy with no promise of a Man.

Cherries for L.

Once upon a time there was a girl. An intimidated girl with bright eyes- bright like stars. This girl loved cherries and in her small garden of her small home, she had planted a small cherry tree. Everyday when the sun came out of the night, the beautiful girl would wake up, would pour cold milk into a glass and would cut a slice from her favorite cherry-pie that she would have just baked the night before. Then, she would take her favorite book and she would go out to the garden and she would sit under her favorite cherry tree. And then, the beautiful girl with the bright eyes- bright like stars- she would start reading her stories. Her favorite ones were those where mysterious things happened to mysterious people. And with these mysterious stories the intimidated girl would forget to finish her slice of cherry-pie, while her cold milk would end up warm, because the intimidated girl was not so intimidated any more as she dreamt of living adventures. She was dreaming that she was a woman that travelled around the world. She found herself in Egypt, in Africa, in India, in China. Oh, yes, in China. There she found the most wonderful cherry orchards all bloomed and all aromatic. And when her travels would come to an end, she would open her eyes, stand up and move away from her favorite cherry tree.

One night, the wind was rough. The rain fell heavy. And the cherry tree was weak. And the morning when the intimidated girl with the bright eyes- bright like stars- woke up and went out to the garden, her heart almost broke into pieces. The cherry tree had fallen down. All defeated. And the girl cried all day and all night and she cried like that for seven days. But the eighth day, the intimidated girl with the bright eyes- bright like stars- poured cold milk into a glass and drunk it all- bottoms up. And she decided.

And the day that followed the intimidated girl with the bright eyes- bright like stars- had a ticket in her hand. And that ticket would get her to China. Oh, yes, to China. Where she would find her cherry orchards all bloomed and all aromatic. And the intimidated girl was not so intimidated anymore because she was about to live adventures.

I want a red apple.-

Today my name is Marion and I am good at archery. I know what to look, where to look and how to look. I am to the point and I aim exactly where I have to aim. My tool? Confidence. My target? An apple. A red apple. Sweet and firm. That’s my target. An apple.

I close one eye- the other is wide open. My ears are wide open. I smell the air, the soils, the woods. And the red apple is there, provoking me. Today my name is Marion and I aim at a red apple. Today my name is Marion and I am challenged.
I want a red apple.-

Colours

A yellow car. The blue sea. A green tree. The yellow sun. A white dress. His dark hair. Her dark hair. Her dark eyes. His deep eyes. The blue sea. The sea. The sea.

The sea is comforting. It is a lullaby. The sea does not care about emotions. The sea does not care about dramas. The sea does not care about melodramas. The sea just is. It moves and it rests and it moves again. And it just lets you be.

My yellow car. My blue sea. My green tree. My yellow sun. My white dress. His my dark hair. My dark hair. His my deep eyes. My sea. My sea. It just lets me be.

THE GAME OF THE ENDLESS POSSIBILITIES

The dancer dances with his metallic partner. She is from steel. He dances with her. With the woman of steel. He develops his body and his soul and his emotions and his mind because of her and with her. And she- the woman of steel- feels him, dances with him, flows, stumbles, falls, gets up. They make love. They dance. They make love. They dance. They make love the dance. They dance the love. He watches her. He touches her. She lowers her eyes and then she looks back at him. She looks deep into him. And then she grabs two daggers. And she dances with the daggers. The woman of steel dances with the daggers and provokes him. And lures him. And he is lured by her. He walks backwards- his back finds a wall- he rests there- he surrenders. She dances with the daggers. The woman of steel dances with the daggers. He surrenders. She dances. He surrenders. She kills him with the daggers. He bleeds- he dies. She kills herself. He comes back to life. She comes back to life. They come back to life. They kiss. They dance the love. They dance. They make love. They dance. They make love. The dancer dances with his metallic partner. She is from steel. He dances with her. With the woman of steel.

For my kind T.

Once upon a time there was a kind cat.
His fur was silver coal, his eyes were yellow green. He was a kind cat. He was dreaming of becoming an astronaut. Every night he used to look at the dark starry night and imagine that he was off to big adventures. Once, he even made it to the moon where he met a beautiful lady cat with fur of gold and eyes of sapphire. Another time, he even reached the burning sun where he was not burnt by the fire and and the light, but instead he found a fountain of cold water. And there, he made a wish: he wished for a long journey, the longest of his life.
And one day, it was night. A kind star called the kind cat that was sleeping a deep sleep. The cat woke up and found a rope of silk hanging from the sky. A silver coal rope like his silver coal fur. And the kind cat with the kind eyes grabbed the rope and started his journey. The longest journey of his life.

For my friend, Marina-still a child.
What lies beyond programme is not chaos: it’s life.
Programmes exist not only to tame a chaotic life, but mainly to facilitate and elevate it.
So we may say: do not wait for progammes as if you are waiting for authoritative powers to justify your existence. There is life happening out there and you make it happen as much as the others.
But now, it is me who takes the role of an authoritative power and tells you what to do. Instead: I will tell you a story.

Once upon a time there was a little girl. That little girl did not wonder if it was beautiful or not, thin or not, tall or not. She just waited each year for the summer to come and go and play by the sea and in the sea. She was quite romantic that girl, a creature that floated on clouds- even though a sea lover.
However, something happened- an event that she cannot recall- and that girl, from a violently young age- started to act by programme: either for it or against it.

To make things more clear: she started eating so as not to get fat- although she was not. And every time she ate something fattening, she felt that her mischief would put her out to chaos. The only way she felt saved was through the programme. She listened carefully nutritionists, doctors, models or her grandmother- she was such a beauty when she was young and her critical eye now was the most severe judge.
Always under the looks and eyes of others. Always under their looks.

And the girl forgot how to look herself with her own eyes, how to feel her body and how to feel her beauty rather than define it and name it. She was in need of a pause.
Sadly though, the pause for the girl was not a pause but it was a paralysis. Pause promises life, it is a temporary dynamic rest full of possibilities. But her pause was a stop, a small death (and not one promising an afterlife) with none possibilities.

This girl now is 30 years old. And she’s just a child. Still.

Once you've told a story, you've sung within a tune.
Once you've taken a picture, you've taken a point of view.
Just rest for a while and take a breath. And take a walk- they'll follow next.