“Επιλογή σου άθθρωπε τη γη να τη μοιράζεις αντίς να σπέρνεις τη χαρά, το μίσος να στοιβάζεις.” Κάμεις την οικόπεδα … More
“The most tragic form of loss isn’t the loss of security; it’s the loss of the capacity to imagine that things could be different.”
― Ernst Bloch
The thing about the body is that it is an archive
and the thing about trauma is that it drills
an active volcano into the chest.
‘to exit the factory and save our thoughts, the only gear we control.’
Now guess I’m a country hating man, for hate is the last Christian supper I’ll ever understand, and how my people can spell kindness with their red right gun arm, oh there’s a bullet coming for the sun, watching my man bleed unarmed, watch my gay siblings sing ‘till dawn
“Put down the map, white man;
let me show you what you’ve done.
Take out your camera,
but first let me ask,
what have you enjoyed the most? The defensive walls? They look harmonic on the map. Ignore the middle, that’s a scar, the last divided capital, just look at the Venetian shards.
She finds the galloping clock
Funny and I couldn’t
For the life of me
Laugh at something
So strikingly serious
I threw up words on my plate words which are not mine
I slice them deep into their core
Just to see if I can recognize something
Besides, she knew that curiosity and crossings can kill the cat.
Ο,τι δεν ζω, την νύχτα αναπόφευκτα αναπολώ.
By the hammers
There will be a fusion
we cannot understand ourselves as real
confused if we should come out, confused if we are the outcome, come out of what, the outcome of what, the outcome of coming out or coming out of the outcome of coming out
words anyway have the tendency of making everything real, they chain a moment by placing it at the mercy of specificity-highlighting all the what-ifs & the surely-is.
If you want to find the truth
You’ll have to lose some things first
‘Poetry can be a wholly creative process. It has the potential of creating worlds that can be nothing other than the product of the poet’s imagination. Photography, instead, is a transformative process. It can only deal with real things. As such it is often confused with reality itself. But, then, it has an enormous transformative potential. Both, though, are fascinating forms of story-telling which is, after all, the cornerstone of human civilisation.’
in the grass that cracks open concrete
and in the seeds that never found soil
but found sea
Now she’s flying to Africa.
I was watching her from afar –
the deeper she waded into the lake
the more she looked like them.
During the quarantine, meeting friends, going to bars, clubs or to the gym, teaching in an actual classroom and all that constituted my past life had vanished. I was left with a virtual classroom, virtual relationships and walking or running in the afternoons. It was then that I started really noticing the strangeness of the sky.
imperishable testaments to