'All Of Me' by Angus And Julia Stone

Is there a cure for this pain?

Maybe I should have something to eat

But food wont take this emptiness away

I’m hungry for you my love

Well I made it through another day

In my cold room

On scraps and pieces left behind

I survive on the memory of you

All Of me is all for you

You’re all I see

All of me is all for you

You’re all I need

Is there a remedy for waiting

For love’s victorious return

Is there a remedy for hating

Every second that I’m without you

All of me is all for you

You’re all I see

All of me is all for you

You’re all I need

All this life is all for love

Its the only road Ill choose

And every street and avenue

Only one will lead me back to you

One Love, One Love, One Love

One Love, One Love, One Love

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Signs

It was pouring rain.

I was under a bus station roof.

Looking at people come and go.

Letting the smoke from my cigarette twirl in my sight and vanish, not completely, into the atmosphere.

There was a sign outside the bus station doors that prohibited smoking.

However, there were cigarette bins right underneath that sign.

‘’Any change, please’’.

Across from me, underneath a door way was a man wearing a wooly black hat.

He had a paper cup and was kindly asking people if they had any spare change.

However, at the corner of the door way in which he was standing was a sign that said ‘No Begging’ with capital black letters.

Above me, was a CCTV camera.

And underneath it, drilled into the wall, was a sign that pointed it out that it was there.

I sometimes catch myself looking straight into the camera lens and wonder if I’m being watched for my safety or my sanity.

Then I realize I have places to be, people to see, things to attend to.

I put out my cigarette in the cigarette bin, under the ‘No Smoking’ sign, the CCTV camera, the ‘CCTV Camera’ sign , across from the beggar with the black wooly hat, the paper cup and the ‘No Begging’ sign.

Funny how those signs are there for a cause and how people interpret them differently.

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Auto Forgiveness

‘’..I hope you forgive yourself’’.

I stopped breathing for a moment.

Why is it that people have such a hard time with forgiving themselves?

Or is it the other way around?

Do people actually forgive themselves easier but hold grudges among their peers for any of their wrongdoings?

Who knows?

But, personally, I find that I don’t forgive myself as easy as I forgive others.

Maybe that’s a defense mechanism of mine in order to make myself learn a lesson.

There comes a point though, when you should realize your self worth.

And no, that isn’t narcissistic or an indication of a superiority complex.

We, as humans, go through so many emotions and scenarios.

Making mistakes is an essential part of our lives.

If it wasn’t, what would our lives be like?

I personally don’t feel ashamed for making mistakes. I would feel ashamed if I continued making them and if, by doing so, I continued hurting others around me who weren’t at fault.

But hey, that’s another topic that calls for a discussion.

And well, that’s another part of life, my friend;

I don’t know how people deal with negative experiences. I don’t know where they get the initiative to think about the way they deal with their negative experiences.

I sure know one thing though : one negative experience can change your life for the better.

After rambling about nothing specific, goodnight.

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<< Ανάθεμα Τον Φρόυντ >>

Μερικοί θεωρούν τον ύπνο ως τον καλύτερο γιατρό.

Και τα όνειρά τους ως το δρόμο προς την εκπλήρωση των πιο τρελών τους φαντασιώσεων.

Άλλοι δεν θυμούνται τα όνειρά τους και προσπαθούν να πραγματοποιήσουν τις φαντασιώσεις τους με υποκατάστατα επιδιώκοντας να ζωντανέψουν, έστω και λίγο, την παρωδία της δισδιάστατης οπτικής τους γωνίας.

Είχα καιρό να σε δω στα όνειρά μου.

Ορισμένες φορές νιώθω λες και το υποσυνείδητό μου είναι ένα μικρό παιδί με κλωστή κι εγώ είμαι μια γάτα που δεν έχει δει κλωστή ποτέ στη ζωή της.

Τα μαλλιά σου ήταν μαζεμένα.

Δεν ξέρω που βρισκόμασταν. Ποια μέρα ήταν και ούτε εάν είχες μάθει την Αλήθεια για μενα.

Δεν ξέρω αν είχες λάβει γνώση για το πως ακόμη ανατριχιάζω όταν ακούω το τραγούδι που σε στιγμάτισε.

Για το πως ακόμη θυμάμαι την ανατολή του ήλιου τη μέρα που πήγες να φύγεις από τη ζωή.

Για το πως ακόμη πιάνω τον εαυτό μου να ανησυχεί για σενα και να ελπίζει ότι βρίσκεις ομορφιά και κουράγιο μπροστά στην αδιέξοδο.

Δεν θυμάμαι αν μιλήσαμε. Μα χαράχτηκε στην μνήμη μου η ανταλλάγη ολόκληρων κουβέντων μονάχα με βλέμματα.

Χαϊδευα απαλά τα μαλλιά σου και εσύ την άκρη του προσώπου μου.

Ένιωθα γαλήνη καθώς τα δάχτυλά μου ακολουθούσαν τις Καμπύλες και τα δικά σου τις Γραμμές.

Ξύπνησα.

Η μόνη μου σκέψη ήταν αυτή :

<<Ανάθεμα τον Φρόυντ>>.

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Χωρίς τίτλο

Ντροπή.

Το ύφος σου γεμάτο ντροπή.

Για ένα σώμα που δεν είναι δικό σου.

Για μια καρδιά που δεν έχει μάθει να’χει όρια – και ας τελειώνει το αίμα που τη καθιστά χρήσιμη και συνάμα λειτουργική.

Φόβο.

Φόβο για τον πόθο των χειλιών μου.

Για την ένδειξη αγάπης από τις μη προκαθορισμένες ψυχές.

Για την διαλλακτικότητα προς το ‘παρα φύσιν’.

Ανασφάλεια.

Ανασφάλεια για τον προορισμό των χεριών μου.

Για την κατανόηση της πνευματικής ουδετερότητας.

Για τις φορές που σου είπα πως μπορείς.

Γιατί δεν είναι δυνατόν, να’χουμε περάσει τόσους πολέμους, τόσες επαναστάσεις, τόσες αδικίες, τόσες χαρές για να μου πεις πως δεν μπορείς.

Μπορείς, μ’ακούς;

Κάποια πράγματα δεν πρόκειται ν’αλλάξουν.

Μπορείς.

Ίσως η επανάληψη των λαθών να είναι για πάντα η μοίρα ανθρωπότητας.

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Mother's Touch

He hugged his mother that night.

In her arms, he found comfort in the touch of sight.

Silence followed uneven breathing as a lump formed in his throat.

He eventually let his tears fall and pictured himself as a human boat.

‘What’s wrong? You can tell me anything’, she softly whispered in his ear.

Her child lifted his head from her shoulder, looked his mother in the eye and said ‘I feel tired and overly sincere’.

‘Of what?’, his mother replied, caressing his hair.

‘Of information’, he answered with a headache too strong to bear.

They stood in embrace until he could look into abyss and reminisce about the Reason.

His mother kissed his forehead, temporarily dismissing his insomnia season.

Back to bed, to the uncertainty of adolescent smear.

The data of routine was making him feel humanity in years. 

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Scars

‘’Can I see them?’’, I asked.

You looked away.

We sat in silence. Gradually, your eyes met mine and you hesitantly pulled up your sleeves in diligence.

You looked terrified, embarrassed and were suppressing your tears. As if I, of all people, would ever judge your fears.

I promised you I wouldn’t cry.

I promised myself to really try.

I saw your scars. There were some that looked fresh. I could tell by their color; Some were in different shades of brown. Others were dark red.

Your breathing turned heavy as I gently traced them with my fingers.

I wondered which scars were a result of which emotions; Which ones were your first ones and which emotions still eagerly linger.

I took your wrists and, without a thought, kissed them; They are the symbol of freedom and ability.

I moved along to your left breast and delicately pressed my lips against it; It is the layer that is over your heart - the symbol of life and humanity.

I found your lips and brushed them against mine; They are the symbol of a pathway to being acknowledged and heard.

I finally reached your forehead and planted a last kiss; It is the symbol of knowledge and wisdom - traits that make tyrants churn.

You surrendered to emotion and let your tears freely fall.

I took your hand in mine and began singing the lullaby of the brave; the ones who had nothing but found meaning in risking it all.
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