O' Children by Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds

I had a Harry Potter marathon and ended up reliving the years when I would immerse myself in the books. I have read them all at least twice. Here are some strange yet funny memories related around Harry Potter series and my life:
I remember reading 'Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets' in my room when I was nine and a Danish boy with whom I had Tae Kwon Do lessons with came to my house and asked if I wanted to go and get ice cream with him. I remember we just sat on a bench and had ice cream and I thought of how sweet and kind he was.
I remember having a competition with my brother as to who will finish 'Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban' first; we would turn the pages fast on purpose it was, to say the least, hilariously stressful.
I remember when my family and I went to watch 'Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire' when I was eleven years old; I was not aware about my sexuality and I felt so upset and guilty for liking Hermione. In the car I kept on thinking 'Harry and Ron are just as attractive, why don't you like them?'. I find that so funny how innocent feelings can be at that age
I remember when 'Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix' came out and my Dad bought my older sister a copy and we ended up having two copies (from Athens) and gave the other to my sister's friend who was eager to read it too. I remember my Mom telling my sister to watch some TV or go outside because she couldn't put the book down and she was worried about her eyesight going bad.
I remember being on holiday in 2007 on a cruise with my family and seeing this British girl reading 'Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows' and feeling so amazed it was out. I remember diving into the extremely salty turquoise water of the Ionian sea and pinching my nose tight; the water strength dislocated my grasp and I ended up scratching the right side of my upper cheek.

What I wanted to note, having watched the movies years later is this scene in particular - the presence of which I don't remember reading but my memory may have just gone fuzzy. I read somewhere that this scene, Harry Potter, is taking place in 1997 so Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds' song will not have come out yet and it serves as an 'anachronism' apparently. This song reminds me of growing up, accepting change, making changes, accepting situations, taking responsibility and letting go. I have put this track on repeat (another version with the full song) and it reminds me of how I have not seen anything yet. How I have so many obstacles and challenges to meet, mistakes to call my own, people to confide in, travels to go on, love to experience.

Copyright © M.E.S.

Goals for the future

Try making creamed spinach tortellini with shrimp
Try baking your Mom’s apple cake and carrot cake
Visit Greek islands
Strengthen yourself
Read more books
Spend an hour a day doing something new
Learn more about film and history

Copyright © M.E.S.

If you watch a video today, let it be this one

This story, guys. I love how many stories of these exist out there and we do not know even half of them.
How beautiful to find a soul and to feel their heartbeat; to have them share a part of themselves, to actually indulge in their passion and, in this case, dance for you - for your eyes, your pleasure.
I always was fascinated by people who could dance smoothly; those with a story to tell, with sensuality and the mighty ability to grab and cleverly tether their audience - mesmerizing them with every curve and glance to the point of no return.
I envy these people; those who can pour their feelings into what they do and find that isolation, that feeling of togetherness as a separate entity from their observers even in a room full of them - they feel at peace and with that, they surrender to performance. That is what keeps them alive, that is the pure nectar we enjoy from the bearing of their fruit.
That is, essentially, what has drawn me to these types of stories. They're utterly precious and people's ability to choose to risk their image for something greater than themselves is, in retrospect, that with which they redeem most of themselves with because they only get better with each dead end, each wrong turn, each piece of work.
This vindication is why we are here; it is why I find it fascinating and why we connect. We see our weaknesses in characters (mythological or historical) who remain known because they represent the possibilities.
Time and time again, they are the solemn few who choose to go up against all odds and, in the face of their own mortality, celebrate their humanness, their delicacy even if it leads to their ultimate fall.

Copyright © M.E.S.

Finesse

The gentle breeze feels like waves of spectra
Your touch resembles the Doppler effect
Everlasting, on standby.

Your fingers feel like whispers of the past
I can almost remember your eyes-
Whole, silky brown
Almost like a light behind a drop of honey.

If I were to ever see you again, I’d invite you to the little rocks below the Acropolis for some chai -with extra cinnamon- and a Tupperware with string beans!

I’d await a rendez-vous in Exarcheia to share some raki or red wine, holding hands under the table while music plays off at the distance and cigarette smoke fills the air; in our ears it is in tune, with melody but also time reminding us of finesse.

I would be patient to see you laugh or smile at sunset, or a few minutes later.

Copyright © M.E.S.

When you start wearing glasses

Me, while talking to my sister about people who wear glasses: I want to know their stories!

Copyright © M.E.S.

Rachel C. Lewis

"I love being horribly straightforward. I love sending reckless text messages (because how reckless can a form of digitized communication be?) and telling people I love them and telling people they are absolutely magical humans and I cannot believe they really exist.

I love saying, Kiss me harder, and You’re a good person, and, You brighten my day. I live my life as straight-forward as possible.

Because one day, I might get hit by a bus.

Maybe it’s weird. Maybe it’s scary. Maybe it seems downright impossible to just be—to just let people know you want them, need them, feel like, in this very moment, you will die if you do not see them, hold them, touch them in some way whether its your feet on their thighs on the couch or your tongue in their mouth or your heart in their hands.

But there is nothing more beautiful than being desperate.

And there is nothing more risky than pretending not to care.

We are young and we are human and we are beautiful and we are not as in control as we think we are. We never know who needs us back. We never know the magic that can arise between ourselves and other humans.

We never know when the bus is coming."

These windows of blue lay in front of me

Their paint, once a bright navy blue, has faded while their bolts, a glistening silver, have rusted

Causing a faint but distinct creaking noise at their opening, just like a broken heart does when it is hesitant of initiating trust

Their patterns have stood the test of time

Their carpenter, now retired, passes by this street on his way home even though it takes him longer

He feels a prick of pride, just like the splinters of the wood on the curve of the points

The right window’s owner went out for a day at the coast while the left’s stayed in for a day of overthinking

The right’s owner is in his late eighties, named Sam and has a love for red wine and circus acts

while the left’s a young woman in her early twenties, named Adriana and had a love with whom she shared wine of all sorts while leaning against a pub echoing with jazz music.

Both live so close together, both see the same view of sunset and dawn but open their windows every morning to a different sight.

How beautiful and sad that an everyday choice can lead to a monument of achievement

(Image source: foxia)

Copyright © M.E.S.

Presenting complaint
Female, early twenties, admitted to A&E with shortness of breath, irregular breathing
“Check O2 levels, pulse, does she look pale, does her skin look okay to you?”
Quick, check, ask, wait, ask again, re-assess, ask again, ask again, ask again
“Can you tell me your name? What date is it? What’s your date of birth?”

The clock ticks the same but time passes fast.

Consultants rush around in bumble-bee formation
Trying to get close to the source – but not too close - or else they might make it worse
Nurses and paramedics fill in the gaps of stripes, moving to the guidelines, approaching the source with equipment and behaviour which is dependent on the inverse situation.
Movements flow to the energy emitted by the source
Choreography is never scripted in this theatre
There are technicians taking the medication history with the pharmacist, muted, in the background
The lights set the background to a mellow maroon
Voices are getting more silent

People are being brought in the world with every tick.
People are experiencing their last breath with every other one.

Parenteral ammunition, strong input and pose.
IV druids, dripping at the rate of ‘La Vie En Rose’.

Until it becomes a black of nothingness.
A black of irreversible silence.

Copyright © M.E.S.

"And kid, you’ve got to love yourself. You’ve got wake up at four in the morning, brew black coffee, and stare at the birds drowning in the darkness of the dawn. You’ve got to sit next to the man at the train station who’s reading your favorite book and start a conversation. You’ve got to come home after a bad day and burn your skin from a shower. Then you’ve got to wash all your sheets until they smell of lemon detergent you bought for four dollars at the local grocery store. You’ve got to stop taking everything so goddam personally. You are not the moon kissing the black sky. You’ve got to compliment someones crooked brows at an art fair and tell them that their eyes remind you of green swimming pools in mid July. You’ve got to stop letting yourself get upset about things that won’t matter in two years. Sleep in on Saturday mornings and wake yourself up early on Sunday. You’ve got to stop worrying about what you’re going to tell her when she finds out. You’ve got to stop over thinking why he stopped caring about you over six months ago. You’ve got to stop asking everyone for their opinions. Fuck it. Love yourself, kiddo. You’ve got to love yourself."








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For the past few years, I experience more menstrual pain which sometimes causes me to wake up at night and pain killers do nothing for me.

When I had experienced the same one summer in Greece, I remember how the pain was so bad I was lying in the foetal position with tears rolling down my face from agony.
This was the same night we had one of our most serious fights, and I will never forget the way you took care of me. Just like that time when my neck got strained and you went out to get medicines for me and looked after me. That night, you just hugged me from behind and put your hand on mine above my abdomen. You kissed and consoled me, trying to keep me warm while I was in pain.

The same happened two nights ago and I tried to stay warm but couldn’t get to sleep. I tried forming the pillows in such a way that my stomach was covered so I could get some alleviation of my ache.

I managed to fall asleep and saw you with your partner. We were all having a meal of some sort and even though I knew you were together, when I would reply I would stroke your hand and laugh but would forget and instantly take my hand back as she looked at me in awkwardness and anger.

I then remember seeing myself lie on a couch, with my head in the lap of another girl, again in the foetal position, drifting in and out of sleep. I was holding on to her right arm, just like a child holds on to their teddy bear when they are in bed for comfort. She asked me ‘Are you holding onto me because you’re in pain?’ and chuckled while I stroked her hand with my fingers.

I found these dreams so interesting. How, in pain, our subconscious can integrate random thoughts and feelings we once had for old lovers.

Copyright © M.E.S.

Julien Smith - The Flinch

"You don’t know anyone at the party, so you don’t want to go. You don’t like cottage cheese, so you haven’t eaten it in years. This is your choice, of course, but don’t kid yourself: it’s also the flinch. Your personality is not set in stone. You may think a morning coffee is the most enjoyable thing in the world, but it’s really just a habit. Thirty days without it, and you would be fine. You think you have a soul mate, but in fact you could have had any number of spouses. You would have evolved differently, but been just as happy.

 You can change what you want about yourself at any time. You see yourself as someone who can’t write or play an instrument, who gives in to temptation or makes bad decisions, but that’s really not you. It’s not ingrained. It’s not your personality. Your personality is something else, something deeper than just preferences, and these details on the surface, you can change anytime you like.

If it is useful to do so, you must abandon your identity and start again. Sometimes, it’s the only way."

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Appreciation post

A young boy singing along to ‘New Rules’ by Dua Lipa while putting supermarket stock away. He had a pricing sticker on his forehead and when I mentioned it to him he said it was on purpose because it’s funny!

A group of four boys running down the hill (two older ones in front and two younger ones behind them) and having the blue school tie of one of the older boys fall behind him. When I pointed it out, the older one (whose tie fell) told one of the young ones to pick it up and the younger boy went back, picked it up, looked at me and proudly exclaimed ‘He’s my brother!’ and ran off.

Seeing an older gentleman (construction worker) applying lip balm in the middle of the street on my way to work this morning.

Sitting outside my accommodation early this morning and having this little old lady say hello to me while she was out walking.

Having strangers smile at you and sometimes say hello.

Waiting for the bus to pick me and two other girls from the bus stop and having one of the girls see the bus pass in front of her, stop her conversation to say ‘BYE FELICIA!’ and continue talking to her friend.

Finding a Greek Instagram page with memorable videos from past series and laughing a lot.

Staying in touch with friends. Laughing wholeheartedly and making them laugh (I love the feeling).

Being able to speak Greek with my classmate and see people on campus who I can relate to.

Getting a small chai latte from Coffee Corner in town and seeing a cute little cup. The waiters being friendly, the music being chilled and awesome.

Realizing where I am this month in the present and how far I’ve come (failures, challenges, achievements, bonds, people who I met etc) when comparing my life to when I started uni/finished high school.

Copyright © M.E.S.

Quotes

‘You begin to liquidate a people,’ Hiibl said, ‘by taking away its memory. You destroy its books, its culture, its history. And then others write other books for it, give another culture to it, invent another history for it. Then the people slowly begins to forget what it is and what it was. The world at large forgets it still faster.’- The Book of Laughter and Forgetting, Milan Kundera

'We are using antiquated categories that make the most explosive social problems of our time wholly invisible to us. The geographical segregation into globalized and unglobalized areas has created a sort of epistemological trap. From the age of social democracy, when class was measured by one dimension, income, we have inherited the habit of assuming political issues will pit ‘the rich’ against ‘the poor.’ But today’s issues don’t. The dividing line on most issues is whether people are being helped or hurt by the global economy.'- Christopher Caldwell.

"Is it possible that, in some parallel life, I could have been a member of her company? To watch them dance—this dance in particular—made me ache to be dancing again. I longed to move like that, to feel the notes of Stravinsky’s dissonant score thrumming through my being, to contract and release and lunge and thrash. It’s a strange dance to crave to perform. It is fear and panic embodied, and also desire and despair. The movement is weighted, gritty, unhinged, and almost animalistic. It’s the very opposite of ballet with its steely grace, its ethereal and composed allure. “I loved to dance because I was scared to speak. When I was moving, I could feel,” Pina Bausch has said." - Pina Bausch's 'The Rite of Spring'

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0dEkm0Mczzw




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As much as I enjoy using blogspot and as much as it has served as a great tool to externalize my thoughts, feelings, desires and what have you there are some moments that things don’t fit. I need to vent.
There is a sense of heaviness that I can’t explain. There have been times in life when forgiveness was the key and made my heart feel lighter. I wonder why I can’t feel that anymore. I wonder if I need to feel what it is I’m sensing and let me get engrossed with it so that acceptance can come forth. So I can finally feel at peace. So I can forgive. Not sure if forgiveness comes before feeling at peace though.
I feel mad at myself for not forgiving as easily as I used to and it makes me wonder who I am. I feel as if I have lost parts of myself. I know this is a part of life. I know that your twenties are supposed to be the years when you figure things out and that you’re not supposed to have everything put together etc.
This year has been the shittiest, toughest, most eye-opening year of my life. This is what scares me -how whenever I feel a negative emotion or have a negative thought, my automatic reaction is to make it positive and perhaps less ‘’real’’ than it actually is so as to bear weight off its impact – maybe to take away the power it has over me. I think that is it, essentially. 
It is about wanting to have power over negativity and it is so emotionally and physically draining. When I try to immerse myself into doing other activities to take my mind off things, I don’t deal with the situation head on. When I do deal with the issues that upset me, I end up feeling worse, being unproductive, not taking care of myself, smoking more which leads to an unbreakable cycle of neglect.
I need to take some time for myself, to heal. So this is basically me saying I will be away for a while but I will hopefully be back online at some point in the future when I feel ready.

Copyright © M.E.S.







Online Users

As believers bow down to show their respect to their god
They externalize their appreciation to their almighty deity.

As a lover bows down, hands on their partner’s chest
They take a position of sanctity, of chaos and humility.

As their fingers gently trace their lover’s skin
They softly admire the fragility of their desires.

The embodiment of curiosity,
The power of movement,
The beautiful eeriness of silent stares and swift, uneven breathing.

Let these be part of our rituals of belief and life
To feel the other, to extend our senses
To grow and mature through pain. 

Copyright © M.E.S.

24/08/17

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bTqUaeDL0pk

Yesterday I went to see a show at the summer theatre we have in my home town. People – young and old – gathered to experience something new, to relive their youth, to enjoy the night breeze under the influence of old melodies. While the songs were being performed, the movies from which they were taken from played in clips in the background on a large screen.

My Mom advised me to bring a shawl. She was right (I just chuckled in my mind). She was so cute. She kept on whispering in my left ear about different characters we were watching on the screen but also about the musicians who were honouring their guests with their presence and talent. Some of the actors had passed away; for others she admitted to them being a heart throb back in the day (herself being a girl who contributed to and participated in this phenomenon).

My Mom spoke about how and when she used to listen to this music; how this music shaped her world. She spoke with such passion and nostalgia and often had tears in her eyes. We held hands under our shawls or held each other by the elbow in between songs. She kept on saying how wonderful the versions were.

It made me think that it is strange that most of the people there were once so young. How they fell in love with these songs, how they cried with heart break at some of the lyrics and they celebrated days at the beach or the mountain or university parties or a simple Sunday afternoon.

It made me realise how much we take certain situations and people for granted sometimes, thinking things will be stable and unchangeable. How very wrong we all are. How fragile our lives and egos are. How we want to fight this virus of ungratefulness – but it’s tough.

It’s tough because I realised that it’s only when we have peace that we can be grateful, forgiving, honest and truly live in the present – of course, same applies the other way round. When did it become so easy to tell white lies? When was the turning point that we thought that not sharing the ultimate truth is better? For what, for ‘what ifs’? Probably. Probably what though?

Who really cares about you not getting into the course you wanted? Who cares that you dropped out of high school/college etc? Who cares about you not getting the job you dreamed about? Who really cares that you separated from your significant other because you cheated? Who cares that you had quarrels with your family? Who cares about the fact that you put on or lost a lot of weight? Who cares you quit your job to travel or to start getting into something completely different?

Everyone is interested in others to an extent as it is in our nature (?) to live in a community setting and live with certain but apart from your news being the main topic of conversation and interest – then what? Do we really feel our time and energy is appropriately used when we participate in these conversations?
I wonder how much more liberating it would be to let go of these expectations that we all have in one form or another.
Copyright © M.E.S.

Slack Jaw - Ellen Page and Emma Portner

Breathtakingly beautiful.

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You'll Never Know

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yJbmXvBJhCs

You’ll never know about the boy who fought with the coppers and got sentenced instead of his younger village friend in a football match.
You’ll never know about the Mom of four who once broke down many years ago when an old family friend asked her when she was going to finally get pregnant while she thought she could not conceive.
You’ll never know about the man who forged being ill in order to avoid his army service.
You’ll never know about the girl who slept with her past innocence, only to wake up to cover her shoulders.
You’ll never know about the plane tickets the woman booked to see her lover and never made it to the airport due to unforeseen circumstances.
You’ll never know about the man with the cane of pinned locations, ready to discuss each and every one with the most meticulous manner.
You’ll never know about the sacrifice a father has made to see his children scarcely but support them constantly.

You’ll never know these stories but they are all around us.
We are sometimes so fast to judge others that we forget they are made up of a plethora of stories; sad and merciful but ecstatic and inspiring too.

Copyright © M.E.S.

Orphan Black Finale

I am saving myself from watching the last episode of Orphan Black. Promised my sister to watch it with her by distance because I have often watched the episodes without her due to her busy schedule (and my lack of self-control with anything Orphan Black related but let’s not get into that!).

I have seen some snippets here and there, some gifsets and interviews. Perhaps delaying myself from watching the last episode, subconsciously, leaves me the opportunity to have the power to end this wonderful journey on my terms.

What can I say about this masterpiece? What can I first touch upon, I really do wonder. I started this series because of a gifset I had come across of Cosima and Delphine kissing in season 2 in the new lab. Back then, I started watching it because 18 year old me was primarily excited to come across anything LGBT related. Little did I know what an impact this series will have on my life, the formation of some important relationships and my outlook on life, on science, on (bio)ethics, on autonomy, on consent, on love, on the meaning of family (biological or chosen) and the multitude of these expressions.

I can sincerely say I grew up with Orphan Black. It changed and matured me in ways I never expected a mere piece of art to do so. Because at the end of the day, Orphan Black is art. It touched and still continues to touch so many viewers, it made people question the ethics behind science; it made people question the dynamics of sexuality and identity; it made people come to terms with what evil and power can do when disguised in the form of authority figures – be it in science or corporate environments.

I identified with many of the characters; with their weaknesses, their stubbornness, their sassiness, their humor. I cried when some of them reunited – be it lovers or family. I was challenged mentally and emotionally with every episode.

This is what I will keep from this amazing show. Regardless of the fact I am known to have an obsession – I do not remember every detail, every face or name of it but the sentiment and wonder it offered me is enough to last me a lifetime. 

That, on its own, is worth the world.












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Strange how we perceive time, history, destiny.
How we fantasize about teleportation, time travel, superhuman strength. Our lives in the present are made up of ideas our ancestors could only ever dream of. It is almost anachronistic; Oh, the irony.

Sometimes I think of why we are fascinated by time travel. Just like in ‘Harry Potter and The Prisoner of Azkaban’ where Hermione used to travel back in time to make it to all her extra classes – it is such a quirky thought though - to see yourself as a familiar stranger. In this case, it is not even relevant to include the existence of alternate universes or dimensions (I am still not sure if one impacts the other or is the outcome of the other).

What would we do if we were faced with the opportunity to go back to speak to our past selves or move forward to meet ourselves in the result of our decisions? Would you change anything? Would you want to tamper with the ‘’natural course of things’’?

Would it be pointless? Each decision can bring forth such a variety of consequences and outflows of life stories and people which, if we really think about it, we would have not known any different in that reality anyway.

I would love to time travel to experience aspects of history in an unscathed manner. This is why I find archaeology, monuments, rare artefacts and everyday items so fascinating – they have been preserved throughout time and stand as proof of our life and human nature. 

Copyright © M.E.S.

How do you feel when your lover kisses your stretchmarks on your shoulder?
What about when they caress the birthmark on the upper left of your abdomen?
What is your reaction when they take your hips into their arms, when you feel the adrenaline rush through your body?
How do you react when they softly kiss your neck and you feel their breathing, giving you goosebumps from desire?
What does a kiss, which started with laughter and proceeds into seriousness do to you?
What about when you gently wake up from your lover hugging you from behind, warm, under the covers?

Why do we often look at our bodies as a nuisance? Why do we fill ourselves with self-doubt and put ourselves down for what we look like? I often wonder if it is because we know our first encounter with others is purely superficial. Their personality, their dreams, the way they treat others in various every day scenarios, the thoughts they have when they are alone in front of a mirror – all of these elements are usually hidden away enigmatically.
Our bodies are so majestic; they work in mysterious and ethereal ways. It is simply fascinating to realize how many biochemical processes occur every second unbeknownst to us in a molecular level.
How crazy is it to think that you and the person next to you were once a mere cell? How that cell developed and became your father, mother, sister, brother, teacher, lover?
When we think of our origin as a fact of miracle – when we view our existence here as a form of miracle, what does that make us feel like?
When we realize this, when we learn to really love ourselves, it is a feeling of liberation. This sentiment is really difficult to attain because we are affected by many people and their demands or preconceived notions.


Copyright © M.E.S.

In the boy with the feet of a dancer, the heart of a lion
Swift movements, to exert his fire, his passion and pain

In the man who recently lost his sight, the eyes of the future
Brushes of maroon, turquoise, beige and lilac – to distinguish his perception of reality, his canvas of beauty

In the woman with Parkinson’s, hands of magic
Touch of keys, each sound a teardrop in her ocean of melodies, her breaths of late night memoirs

In the girl who recently lost her partner, the gift of patience, of insight
To resist the easy route, to feel the art in perseverance, in transient repetition
To console her past love’s past lover
To lay with her first love and tuck her in amid cycles of unconsciousness.

This, right here, this is who we are.
With all of our mistakes and weaknesses.
It is the decisions we have to replenish our ever-changing purpose.

A life without sacrifice is one worth defying.

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You are not going to be the reason I draw into myself again.
Your actions will not make me immobile or suffocate me any longer, just like theirs did.
I will not tip-toe around your wrongdoings because your ‘hormones are all over the place’.
Justified, because of what is between your legs.
Confident, because being honest is difficult and so beneath you.

I will not take the blame for being too analytical or taking behaviours too seriously.
I will take the responsibility of making things right.
I will not be told to relax when my body is treated with disrespect.
I will not be silent and poised while you are allowed to laugh and breathe without any remorse or regret.
I will not be the one who will carry your heavy conscience.

This will be the start to change.

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https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mld3NLHNebw

I’m listening to this song. The clock just ticked to midnight the moment I started writing.
I love how in these hours we feel most at peace. How, in order to find inner peace, the English sky never fully darkens in the summer. I remember how odd that felt to witness when I lived in Glasgow that year, coming home from a night out at 4 am with the bright sun out already.

I thought when we separated that I would go mad, I was so used to talking to you about anything and everything that I felt I had no one to vent to.

I remember the first days we started talking, planning Skype conversations and opening up too much and too quickly. Inappropriate sexual gifsets, inside jokes, my lists on word about conversation topics to go through.

I find it strange how I don’t enjoy capturing some moments which I know I will miss and almost always do. I think I do it on purpose so I can be ever present in that moment, take as much of it in as I can but then I miss it and the irony is my memory is strange – it often contains details of images and people and situations I never thought I would keep.

You know, I wrote you some letters a few days after we broke up. Some days I wrote more than one. They’re all in your box under my bed. I came across some videos you had sent me and pictures I thought I had forgotten. I had so much wine those days. I don’t think I had ever smoked so much or drank so much. I couldn’t understand how, even after we separated, you still cared to see I was okay and I was safe.

I remember you asked me once why I delete some of the pictures you send me. The other day, I came across some videos you made me. In one of them you told me not to cry while in others you made parodies about Matt Corby and Adele’s songs and there I was, uncontrollably bawling my eyes out of sadness from nostalgia and laughter because you really are a funny one.

I miss you so much sometimes but I also know you are doing the things that make you happy. All I ever wanted and want is for you to be at peace, little one. You deserve it so much. I am sometimes in pain as I ponder over the past about the ways I behaved and wish I could take back those moments. But this made me learn, this made me grow and mature, my girl, it really did.

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Thoughts - Wynonna Earp

I think sex means something different for each person and it is changing all the time depending on their physical and/or emotional needs. Regardless of if you have had few or many partners, each person enjoys different things and, undoubtedly, there is a variety of activities to engage in.
Today I saw a series (Wynonna Earp) with two female characters who are in a relationship together (Waverly and Nicole). What I found so sweet was the aspect of consent – one of the characters asked the other for permission to continue being intimate during one of their scenes..
The topic of consent is truly an interesting one. In the past, when I expressed this notion to some of my peers they mocked the idea of having to ask consent because they considered it pointless if you’re already being intimate with your significant other in the first place.
This could be considered a valid point though, in my opinion, obtaining consent is one of the most humble and respectful gestures you could show your partner. It not only shows that you care about and value them but it is also indicative of you being aware of their autonomy regardless of their position in your life. It also shows that you place their physical and emotional well-being in the present higher than that of your gratification – what’s more attractive?!

Another aspect I enjoy watching is that of laughter and embracing embarrassment during some intimate scenes. I find it so realistic and attractive to be able to laugh with someone in those moments because you are ‘’naked’’ and vulnerable in many ways. It provides a pure bond in that moment when it is you and that other person, where you can hear your bodies, your breathing, your kissing noises, your surroundings in such detail that everything suddenly is really intense.
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Πάτησα τις χορδές για να νιώσω το παρόν
Να χορτάσω την αφή της φωνής και της επιστροφής
Το αλκοολ στα χείλη και τον καπνό της νιότης
Μα, δε μπορώ να γευτώ πια το ''είναι'' μας.
Δε μπορώ να ακολουθήσω το ''φαίνεσθαι'' γιατι η ζωή
μόνο εκεί δε κρύβεται και μόνο εκεί δε ξεχειλίζει η παρουσία της.
Το κραγιόν τονίζει το μπορντό των αναμνήσεων
κι ανανεώνει ό,τι ιερό, ό,τι πιο τρυφερό βρίσκεται στο καφέ των ματιών.
Δεν είσαι αδύναμη ούτε εγωίστρια όταν αποζητάς μια φωνή που σε γεμίζει ζεστασιά, μάτια που σου μιλούν με χιλιάδες εικόνες και χείλη που, όταν σε αγγίζουν, φιλούν ακόμη και τις πιο κρυφές πληγές σου, τον εσωτερικευμένο και φοβισμένο σου παιδί.
Ξέρω, ψυχή μου, ξέρω.
Δεν υπάρχει κάτι άλλο εκτός από τη φράση ''Είναι μέσα στη ζωή'' - κι είναι τόσο όμορφη και συνάμα στενάχωρη αυτή η συνειδητοποίηση.
Το μόνο που θέλω είναι να μην έχω απωθημένα μα, πως το καταφέρνει κανείς χωρίς να προκαλέσει πόνο στον άλλον και χωρίς να χάσει τον εαυτό του;
Δεν μπορεί.
Ξεκίνα!






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Orphan Black

https://www.theguardian.com/tv-and-radio/2017/jun/07/send-in-the-clones-orphan-black-tvs-smartest-show-is-back?CMP=share_btn_tw

'(...) This is a show preoccupied with motherhood, the role of women in society and the age-old debate of nurture v nature. The clones may all look alike but their personalities are determined by how they were raised as much as by their shared progenitor – and the show’s creators John Fawcett and Graeme Manson unpick these themes with subtlety and care.'
'(...) A striking intelligence runs through Orphan Black. Each series takes its episode titles from a different influential work. Series one drew on Charles Darwin’s Origins of the Species and series two, the writings of Francis Bacon, arguably the father of scientific method. Series three quoted the farewell address of Dwight Eisenhower, a speech best known for coining the term “military-industrial complex”. And series four delved into the works of Californian feminist and scientist Donna Haraway, author of A Cyborg Manifesto: Science, Technology and Socialist-Feminism in the late 20th Century. The final series will apparently reference Ella Wheeler Wilcox’s celebrated 1914 protest poem 1695 – a furious rallying cry against standing silently by.

Beyond the episode titles, though, the show takes in everything from Greek mythology and Margaret Thatcher’s government to HG Wells’ creation classic The Island of Doctor Moreau, which serves as both the show’s biggest influence and its best MacGuffin. Nods to further facets of the science v religion panoply are littered throughout: Felix’s surname is Dawkins, Sarah first learns about the existence of clones at Huxley station, and George Bernard Shaw’s Pygmalion, with its tale of woman refashioned by man, is a recurring allusion'

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'Digital Kids' by Vicktor Taiwo (Ft Solomon)

And I see you running into the woods
With your bright yellow jacket, you look lost
You look lost

I see you running into the woods
With your bright yellow jacket, you look lost
You look lost

You know kids like you
Ain't supposed to know
That the world is broken
And the sun is frozen

You know kids like you
Ain't supposed to feel
Like the earth is caving
And the world ain't spinning for you, you, you

And I bet you never knew, never knew, love could be this bright
Ain't it something, smile or something
I bet you never knew, never knew, never knew, the air could taste this sweet
I bet you never knew

I see you running into the woods
With your bright yellow jacket, you look lost
You look lost
I see you running into the woods
With your bright yellow jacket, you look lost
You look lost, you look lost

[Solomon]
If you heard that I'm a threat then you heard right
Shades on but there ain't a lens for my third eye
People are see through they ain't really tryna' learn
But you eating what I feed you cause it's served right
People see me and perceive me in the worst light
Find it hard to read me I ain't speaking I observe guys
Cause people will deceive you I ain't really tryna' learn lies
Searching for meaning with my burnt eyes
When I'm old and I'm grey and I've been through it all
Ask me what I've learnt I say I've learnt life
Pick up my book of rhymes blow it and watch the dirt rise
Looking down at earth from a bird's eye
Searching, but searching for what?
Searching for the purpose of words and the worth that we lost
My eyes ain't awake and my mind's in a place where you can
Get what you ask for every time that you pray
Some want world peace, some want ice and a chain
Some want wealth, some want help finding a way
And we got it, just imagine, we all got it
Ahh..


















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On Not Knowing (Modern) Greek by Johanna Hanink

https://eidolon.pub/on-not-knowing-modern-greek-8611bc8151eb









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Another life update

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A Craft of Future Past: Mastering Antiquarian Horology

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=irdTng8MbIE


Wanna see what the future looked like centuries ago? Step into the workshop of Brittany Nicole Cox, one of the world's only antiquarian horologists. 
She builds and repairs antique clockwork devices, so she's kinda like a mechanic—from the 17th century'





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Lost Bodies - Θυμήσου, Σώμα (Κ.Π Καβάφης)

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2Ad8C8bAvSY

Θυμήσου, σώμα… 
Σώμα, θυμήσου όχι μόνο το πόσο αγαπήθηκες,
όχι μονάχα τα κρεββάτια όπου πλάγιασες,
αλλά κ’ εκείνες τες επιθυμίες που για σένα
γυάλιζαν μες στα μάτια φανερά,
κ’ ετρέμανε μες στη φωνή – και κάποιο
τυχαίον εμπόδιο τες ματαίωσε.
Τώρα που είναι όλα πια μέσα στο παρελθόν,
μοιάζει σχεδόν και στες επιθυμίες
εκείνες σαν να δόθηκες – πώς γυάλιζαν,
θυμήσου, μες στα μάτια που σε κύτταζαν•
πώς έτρεμαν μες στη φωνή, για σε, θυμήσου, σώμα

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Ithaca

Στο λύκειο, τα ‘Νεοελληνικά Κείμενα’ ήταν το αγαπημένο μου μάθημα. Όντας παιδί θετικής κατεύθυνσης, ίσως αποτελούσε μια προσωρινή απόδραση από το κόσμο των αριθμών και της λογικής. 
Σ’αυτό το μάθημα πιστεύω έμαθα περισσότερα για τον εαυτό μου, το κόσμο, τη ζωή και την ιστορία. Μέσω του μαθήματος αυτού και των καθηγητών μου, ενστερνίστηκα ένα ανεκτίμητο δώρο – την ικανότητα ‘’όρασης’’. Την ανταλλαγή ιστοριών κι ιδεών. 
Λάτρεψα συγγραφείς όπως τον Σαμαράκη, τη Πολυδούρου, τον Ρίτσο, τον Καρυωτάκη.
Είχα συναντήσει ένα ποίημα του Καβάφη, την ‘Ιθάκη’. Αν και δεν ήμουν αρκετά ώριμη να κατανοήσω το νόημα της Ιθάκης, ποτέ δεν έφυγε το μήνυμά της από το μυαλό μου: ‘Εύχομαι να’ναι μακρύς ο δρόμος’.






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'Midday' (Original Poem)

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Comments on 'The And' (Georgia and Alyx) video

Alyx and Georgia (The And)

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22/03/2017

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hmOBfhlYwJY

Shift

Crowds are immersing themselves in parables

The choir is singing the lyrics without rhyme

A child is silent, echoing tears of lost dreams

Run

The hills are filled with no hiding spaces

Armies are marching without a sound

A woman is clenching her fists, nails piercing through her skin

Shout

Research is being made for diseases

People die from avoidable harm

A man races to his young self, to take back the years lost

Bleed

The virus of your sorrow

The seconds of your livelihood

The breath of your kiss

Pain

Creeping up your nerve endings

Diffusing through choices

Reciprocating for dysfunctional neurotransmitters

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19/03/2017

Waves travel from one source to the next
Bending through crevices, smiles, the humidity and rain
Only to bring news of the
Aftermath

The present is ever-lasting but never returns
The fingers on your hips will cripple;
Impulses will send the message for
Decipherment
Until it, too, will become a vivid, ever-lasting
Memory of
Momentary bliss.

You were there
And so was she.
It was not a hallucination.
You felt her, breathed in her existence
Caressed her cheek
Brushed your lips against hers in place of
Words.

You are not young in your youth if you
Condescend your present
You are not living while
Yearning for false hopes of your future
You are not grasping your potential
When you long for repetition of your past.

Catharsis will, too, come in waves.
One must be open to feel it.

One must be humble to understand it.
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In the lad with the sun kissed skin
I see
Waves of laughter
Youth emerging
Dancing between the limit of
Desire
Sovereignty
Presentation

In the lady with the strands of keratin
Gold
I see
Coffee bean foam
Wet feet meshing with sand
Ankle bracelets hanging
Calm and beautiful
Alone
Above a small
But discernible
Maroon colored scar

In the child with freckles
Too many to count
A watch to remember
Time
On the right wrist
Broken but forever changing
Manually
With dirty finger tips
Consulting the

Old Town Clock’s
Ringing;
A disappointing
Though comforting
Reminder
Of return

In the face of anonymity
The untold stories
The inaction
The personal
Testimonies of
Souls
Wandering
For closer proximity
For another chance
To seize the moments
Randomly planted
By and for us
The days before
Only for us to have the
Realization of
Waking up to yet
Another day of
Chasing
Empirical
Implementation

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A granddaughter learns about her grandfather’s past through editing his biography. He was an Armenian writer, publisher, teacher and editor. How ironic.

He sits on her bed, looking at her with a cheeky smile. His hands are interlocked and rest on his lap. His hard-rimmed glasses are quite notable and his eyes are fixated on each sound of the keyboard.

She takes a sip of her coffee and leaves her cigarette to the side.

I wonder what he was like. This thought has been on her mind since her early teenage years.

Her hair is just like my Maria’s… her nose too! Armenian nose!, he thinks proudly.

He once typed away like she is doing now.

He gets up from the bed and nears in.

I wonder what that illuminous square object is, he wonders.

When he gets the chance to visit his people in spirit, he has noticed these funny objects become more abundant and, perhaps, minute?

His hands are rested on each side of his waist as he tilts his head to the left and tries to understand this newfound futuristic item. It even has numbers and words! Oh my.

Anoushig? Can you hear me? He voices introvertly, loud and clear.

Her ear starts to tickle for some odd reason.

Must be the breeze, she thinks.

Hokis, I have something to tell you. You cannot hear me but that is okay. Where to begin..

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Midday

(Picture Source: http://inkpathsconverging.tumblr.com/post/157309959202/lisbon-every-back-street-worth-a-sketch-by-r#notes)

Midday melancholy
The gentle breeze curls around my earlobe
Following a pattern
Like the waves on the shore
The scent of honey and the diversity of flowers overpower my senses
With every step I am careful to listen
Listen

History was written in this alleyway
A woman walked to her death with the same number of
Footsteps
Men were sacrificed in their endeavour to sacrifice
Freedom

A child looked out of the window
To the mosaic of houses
Bricks and debris which once formed a
Home

Love was spread in that doorstep
There
In midnight, in hiding

Children, aged eight sat on those steps
Played games to pass the time
Until midday

Midday
The brink of maroon
The solitude of tiredness
The subtle irony of
Loneliness
Togetherness

Nothingness

Online Users

Με την αναπνοή τους
Εισπνέουν το ίδιο οξυγόνο
Γένος - ουδέτερο
Γένος - διπλωματικό

Σμίγουν σκεπτόμενοι το ιερό τίποτα
Ακολουθούν τις σκιές
Κάτω από το φωτισμένο αξιοθέατο

Εκεί που δόθηκαν τα μεγαλύτερα ‘’θέλω’’
Εκεί που ψιθυρίστηκαν τα απλότερα ‘’σ’αγαπώ’’

Ονειροπολούν τη ξενιτιά
Ξενιτεμένοι
Αναμένουν την επαφή
Αισθησιακοί
Ενστερνίζοντας το απόλυτο
Μηδέν

Γράφουν γράμματα που μήτε θα αγγιχθούν, μήτε θα ειδωθούν
Τρέμοντας με κρύα δάχτυλα
Τα απαγορευμένα λόγια
Της παράλληλης όρασης

Εκεί που είναι επικίνδυνα να προσμένεις.
Εκεί που είναι ανώδυνη η απραξία.

Το στυλό τελειώνει από μελάνι
Ενώ οι ψυχές τους αναβλύζουν
Πάθος
Ζωή

Αλλάζουν οι καιροί,
Μεγαλώνουν τα πιτσιρίκια
Προβληματίζονται οι ηλικιωμένοι

Μαζί τους, καινούργιο μελάνι αρχίζει να γράφει
Το επόμενο κεφάλαιο
Την αναμενόμενη αρχή

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Pour me some wine,
Let it trickle down my throat
With quintessence, with patience
Almost
Ethereal

Pour me some wine
Let it follow the movement of my fingers
With delicacy, with meticulousness
Almost
Graceful

Pour me some wine,
Let it surpass the flow of my blood
With insignificance, with melody
Almost
Purified

Let it leave my system,
Temporarily
Steadily
Only
To quench the thirst of our future lovers.

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Καρυάτιδά Μου

Καρυάτιδά μου, που στηρίζεις τον κόσμο όλο
Βλέποντας έρωτες, ανατολές κι αναστεναγμούς

Ακίνητη μέσα στους βουβούς, σκονισμένους καιρούς
Αμείλικτη στον χρόνο των πολέμων και των υποχωρήσεων

Καρυάτιδά μου, που επιβλέπεις το πλήθος των προσώπων
Βλέποντας περιέργεια, λαχτάρα κι απορίες

Αθάνατη μέσα στους σιωπηλούς, επιβλητικούς λόφους
Υπερήφανη στο πέρασμα των καταστροφών και των ανέμων.

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