because tomorrow, sunday, it's still february - and who knows if we make it to 2008!
- to all tomorrow's parties
"Well, it's all over now. Like a tide race, the waves of human mediocrity are rising to the heavens and will engulf this refuge, for I am opening the flood-gates myself, against my will. Ah! but my courage fails me, and my heart is sick within me!-Lord, take pity on the Christian who doubts, on the unbeliever who would fain beleive, on the galley-slave of life who puts out to sea alone, in the night, beneath a firmament no longer lit by the consoling beacon-fires of the ancient hope!" J.-K. Huysamns A Rebours
Sunday, February 29, 2004
Friday, February 27, 2004
έβρεχε όλη νύχτα-
a poetic sunction: first thing that happens to me in the morning; along -its been so long- with phrases of last night, though eternal they seem, heard phrases glyphed in my notebook, or better in my notetext. metafraseis /and or parafraseis tautoxronws:
My words grow like cherry trees blossom
i
twn stixwn mou to apanthisma
tis amigdalias to anthisma
san apo patima magikou koumpiou, tixea tixea o mallarme: tou prwinou i apogoiteusi, tis nixtas i egkatalipsi, a trail of light now, en route:
SALUTATION
Nothing! this foam and virgin verse
to designate nought but the cup;
such, far off, there plunges a troop
Of many Sirens upside down.
We are navigating, my diverse
Friends! I already on the poop
You the splendid prow which cuts
The main of thunders and of winters;
A fine ebriety calls me
Without fear of its rolling
To carry, upright, this toast
Solitude, reef, star
To whatever it was that was worth
Our sail's white solicitude.
(Stephane Mallarme)
"LACE PASSES INTO NOTHINGNESS ..."
Lace passes into nothingness,
With the ultimate Gamble in doubt,
In blasphemy revealing just
Eternal absence of any bed.
This concordant enmity
Of a white garland and the same,
In flight against the pallid glass,
Hovers and does not enshroud.
But where, limned gold, the dreamer dwells,
There sleeps a mournful mandola,
Its deep lacuna source of song,
Of a kind that toward some window,
Formed by that belly or none at all,
Filial, one might have been born.
(Stephane Mallarme)
i anorthodoksi xara tis anagnwsis, solar ke oudeis, paralogiasma, de dicto:
members of the
Society of the Friends of the Text
'Θα πάω κι ας μου βγει και σε κακό'
'Όπου και να σας βρίσκει το κακό, αδελφοί,
όπου και να θολώνει ο νους σας,
μνημονεύετε Διονύσιο Σολωμό
και μνημονεύετε Αλέξανδρο Παπαδιαμάντη.
Η λαλιά που δεν ξέρει από ψέμα
θ' αναπαύσει το πρόσωπο του μαρτυρίου'
(Οδυσσέας Ελύτης)
My words grow like cherry trees blossom
i
twn stixwn mou to apanthisma
tis amigdalias to anthisma
san apo patima magikou koumpiou, tixea tixea o mallarme: tou prwinou i apogoiteusi, tis nixtas i egkatalipsi, a trail of light now, en route:
SALUTATION
Nothing! this foam and virgin verse
to designate nought but the cup;
such, far off, there plunges a troop
Of many Sirens upside down.
We are navigating, my diverse
Friends! I already on the poop
You the splendid prow which cuts
The main of thunders and of winters;
A fine ebriety calls me
Without fear of its rolling
To carry, upright, this toast
Solitude, reef, star
To whatever it was that was worth
Our sail's white solicitude.
(Stephane Mallarme)
"LACE PASSES INTO NOTHINGNESS ..."
Lace passes into nothingness,
With the ultimate Gamble in doubt,
In blasphemy revealing just
Eternal absence of any bed.
This concordant enmity
Of a white garland and the same,
In flight against the pallid glass,
Hovers and does not enshroud.
But where, limned gold, the dreamer dwells,
There sleeps a mournful mandola,
Its deep lacuna source of song,
Of a kind that toward some window,
Formed by that belly or none at all,
Filial, one might have been born.
(Stephane Mallarme)
i anorthodoksi xara tis anagnwsis, solar ke oudeis, paralogiasma, de dicto:
members of the
Society of the Friends of the Text
'Θα πάω κι ας μου βγει και σε κακό'
'Όπου και να σας βρίσκει το κακό, αδελφοί,
όπου και να θολώνει ο νους σας,
μνημονεύετε Διονύσιο Σολωμό
και μνημονεύετε Αλέξανδρο Παπαδιαμάντη.
Η λαλιά που δεν ξέρει από ψέμα
θ' αναπαύσει το πρόσωπο του μαρτυρίου'
(Οδυσσέας Ελύτης)
Thursday, February 26, 2004
Appendicitis - if it's to crack the silence
-3 C. With the streets smelling of stale beer and whiskey and coke laughs. Footstepsonhis (and he apologises!) but apart from that the words aretobefoundwiththeHB'sandthewineandthatplateoflentilsyou-know-where-, a huge one, as the one thatcamefrombehindafter it, andcaryingon20minutestoclosing time (in the absence of limbo attend borders, so to speak): I found these. OR from the papers
My Love
It's not the lover we love, but love
itself, love as in nothing, as in O;
love is the lover's coin, a coin of no country,
hence: the ring; hence: the moon -
no wonder that empty circle so often figures
in our intimate dark, our skin-trade,
that commerce so furious we often think
love's something we share; but we're always wrong.
When our lover mercifully departs
and lets us get back to the buisiness of love again,
either we'll slip it inside us like the host
or we'll beat its gibbous drum that the whole world
might know who jas it. Which was always my style:
O the moon's bodhram, a skin gong
torn from thehide of Capricorn,
and many's the time I'd lift it from its high peg,
grip it to my side, tight as a gun,
and whip the life out of it, just for the joy
of that huge heart under my ribs again.
A thousand blows I showered like meteors
down on that sweet-spot over Mare Imbrium
where I could make it sing its name, over and over.
While I have the moon, I cried, no ship will sink,
or woman bleed, or man lose his mind-
but truth told, I was terrible:
the idiot at the session spoiling it,
as they say, for everyone.
O kings petitioned me to pack it in.
The last time, I peeled off my shirt
and found a coffee bruise that ran from hip to wrist.
Two years passed before a soul could touch me.
Even in its lowest coin, it kills us to keep love,
kills us to give it away. All of which
brings us to Camille Flammarion
signing the flyleaf of his Terres du Ciel
for a girl down from the sanatorium,
and his remark - the one he couldn't help but make -
on the gorgeous candid pallor of her shoulders;
then two years later, unwrapping the same book
reinscribed in her clear hand, with my love,
and bound in her own lunar vellum.
Don Paterson, from Landing Light, 2003, Faber and Faber, London
Plus:
(...)
Now two strangers shiver
under one roof
the one who delivers
the promise and the proof
and the one I deploy
for the poem or the kiss.
It gives me no joy
to tell you this.
Don Paterson, A Fraud, Ibid.
My Love
It's not the lover we love, but love
itself, love as in nothing, as in O;
love is the lover's coin, a coin of no country,
hence: the ring; hence: the moon -
no wonder that empty circle so often figures
in our intimate dark, our skin-trade,
that commerce so furious we often think
love's something we share; but we're always wrong.
When our lover mercifully departs
and lets us get back to the buisiness of love again,
either we'll slip it inside us like the host
or we'll beat its gibbous drum that the whole world
might know who jas it. Which was always my style:
O the moon's bodhram, a skin gong
torn from thehide of Capricorn,
and many's the time I'd lift it from its high peg,
grip it to my side, tight as a gun,
and whip the life out of it, just for the joy
of that huge heart under my ribs again.
A thousand blows I showered like meteors
down on that sweet-spot over Mare Imbrium
where I could make it sing its name, over and over.
While I have the moon, I cried, no ship will sink,
or woman bleed, or man lose his mind-
but truth told, I was terrible:
the idiot at the session spoiling it,
as they say, for everyone.
O kings petitioned me to pack it in.
The last time, I peeled off my shirt
and found a coffee bruise that ran from hip to wrist.
Two years passed before a soul could touch me.
Even in its lowest coin, it kills us to keep love,
kills us to give it away. All of which
brings us to Camille Flammarion
signing the flyleaf of his Terres du Ciel
for a girl down from the sanatorium,
and his remark - the one he couldn't help but make -
on the gorgeous candid pallor of her shoulders;
then two years later, unwrapping the same book
reinscribed in her clear hand, with my love,
and bound in her own lunar vellum.
Don Paterson, from Landing Light, 2003, Faber and Faber, London
Plus:
(...)
Now two strangers shiver
under one roof
the one who delivers
the promise and the proof
and the one I deploy
for the poem or the kiss.
It gives me no joy
to tell you this.
Don Paterson, A Fraud, Ibid.
Friday, February 20, 2004
Syn-hari|tria
[ Ela esso pou dame (Tsioronis o Samourai)]
I Christina en i arfi tou filou mou tou Oresti.
I Christina en fili mou.
I Christina itan sto Londino to 2000-2001.
I Christina en stin Kypro jai I Christina eishen analavei na einai ypefthinos syntaxis tou entypou pou itan na fkaloumen, pou en na fkaloumen.
I Christina analamvanei pou tin Triti tis politistikes selides tou Politi.
!
Ta grafeia tou Politi, opws mou eipen I Christina, twra einai apenati pou to Antonakis Tavern.
Diladi
Christina
Kapou metaxy tis New Division, tou Kapetaniou,
jai tou Magka
Christina,
Demetris
I Christina en i arfi tou filou mou tou Oresti.
I Christina en fili mou.
I Christina itan sto Londino to 2000-2001.
I Christina en stin Kypro jai I Christina eishen analavei na einai ypefthinos syntaxis tou entypou pou itan na fkaloumen, pou en na fkaloumen.
I Christina analamvanei pou tin Triti tis politistikes selides tou Politi.
!
Ta grafeia tou Politi, opws mou eipen I Christina, twra einai apenati pou to Antonakis Tavern.
Diladi
Christina
Kapou metaxy tis New Division, tou Kapetaniou,
jai tou Magka
Christina,
Demetris
Fragments from an O [or The story of the Aye!]
To 'heis arage syllogistei pote
To stafyli tin wra pou se shimatizei o erwtas...
Deli xi-Deli, theleis en' theleis, zaten 'There Is Nothing But Trouble And Desire', o!, Aye! do not forget the --k-k-k-k-k[hole; opening], that whole opening of that Gaddisian punkt: "That was Youth with its reckless exuberance when all things were possible pursued by age where we are now, looking back at what we destroyed, what we tore away from that self who could do more, and it's work that's become my enemy because that's what I can tell you about, that Youth who could do anything." , delikdesik delikanli, anamesa stis lexeis kai ta pramata, 'o'-!, the house of porosity, peircing 'Aimez Travaillez Et Soufrir', hwris ena stiho stegano, AM, Christe mou Insa(Allah), dioti 'Ypirhe apo tote to provlima', hey!, wait, a sec., sip, good. Now back-track: "H Athina itan poly pio omorfy tote. Itan methysmeni kai epieikis. Itan lagna. Itan kataprasini kai zesti san hnoto. Itan proswrini san louloudi....Itan mia poly poli pou horopidouse sto tsimento kai sto grasidi, apo therino tourismo se heimerino marasmo, ki apo anavoli se anavoli. Den katadehotan na dei to hali tis. Eihe girysei to proswpo ap' tin alli meria, pros tin Mikra Asia. O Basileus Gewrgios B' evale na kopsoun tous foinikes gia na moizoume me Evrwpi. Ypirhe apo tote to provlima." (Evgenios Aranitsis, Afriki, 1988: 19), enw "...(A)fti i hwra, i Agglia, itan mia ypothetiki efkairia gia asydoseis. To Londino me dektike amesws t' omologw - i zwi mou omws ekei itan epidermiki kai symvatiki. I vrohi kai i omihli me eihan potisei mehri to kokalo, eiha malakwsei, eiha ginei ena kommati laspis. Eplita sto epakro. Ypefera apo prowra girateia." (Ibid: 153), ah! ah! nai, Deli xi-Deli, delik, deli-k diha kapaman!
o[a]r
NA PROFEREIS TIN PRAGMATIKOTITA opws o spourgitis to harama.
Run amok, my cooking utensils!
"...[P]oised between construction and ruin, it 'errupts', it burst into discontinous transformation. Everything is in a continuous process of discontinuous transformation." Howard Caygill, Walter Benjamin, The Colour of Experience
Ploio diarkeias i hwra mou.
Etc(i):
Kemirici Ask ilahi - Kit'at
Perimenw tin wra pou ena
Perivoli eleitiko th' afomoiwsei
T' apovlita olwn twn aiwnwn - pou ena
Koritsi tha kyrixei sto swma tou epanastasi
Wraia me tremouliastes fwnes kai lampidones
Froutwn xanafernwntas tin istoria
Stin afetiria tis
(...)
Piase to PREPEI apo to iwta kai gdare to isame to pi.
["To ouiski, prepei na to pw, xodevotan me rythmo pio argo ap' oti to myalo, ena mpoukali ana dyo meres. Na methas einai to mono efkolo." E. Aranitsis, Ibid: 154]
Background Noise: 1
and 2;
Icon of St. George and the young man of Mytilene,
Mid-13th Century AD, Crusader (a western artist working in the Holy Land),
The Nationa Icon Collection, no. 13, Department of Medieval and Modern Europe, The British Museum
(Strepsate tin prosohi sas sto nearo Lesvio! - Lesvos is the capital of Mytilene and another name for the island (as well as a legendary 'Ouzeri-Kafe-Bar'!)
*All unregistered shots courtesy of Odysseas Elytis, O Mikros Naytilos, 1970-1974 , (1985).
To stafyli tin wra pou se shimatizei o erwtas...
Deli xi-Deli, theleis en' theleis, zaten 'There Is Nothing But Trouble And Desire', o!, Aye! do not forget the --k-k-k-k-k[hole; opening], that whole opening of that Gaddisian punkt: "That was Youth with its reckless exuberance when all things were possible pursued by age where we are now, looking back at what we destroyed, what we tore away from that self who could do more, and it's work that's become my enemy because that's what I can tell you about, that Youth who could do anything." , delikdesik delikanli, anamesa stis lexeis kai ta pramata, 'o'-!, the house of porosity, peircing 'Aimez Travaillez Et Soufrir', hwris ena stiho stegano, AM, Christe mou Insa(Allah), dioti 'Ypirhe apo tote to provlima', hey!, wait, a sec., sip, good. Now back-track: "H Athina itan poly pio omorfy tote. Itan methysmeni kai epieikis. Itan lagna. Itan kataprasini kai zesti san hnoto. Itan proswrini san louloudi....Itan mia poly poli pou horopidouse sto tsimento kai sto grasidi, apo therino tourismo se heimerino marasmo, ki apo anavoli se anavoli. Den katadehotan na dei to hali tis. Eihe girysei to proswpo ap' tin alli meria, pros tin Mikra Asia. O Basileus Gewrgios B' evale na kopsoun tous foinikes gia na moizoume me Evrwpi. Ypirhe apo tote to provlima." (Evgenios Aranitsis, Afriki, 1988: 19), enw "...(A)fti i hwra, i Agglia, itan mia ypothetiki efkairia gia asydoseis. To Londino me dektike amesws t' omologw - i zwi mou omws ekei itan epidermiki kai symvatiki. I vrohi kai i omihli me eihan potisei mehri to kokalo, eiha malakwsei, eiha ginei ena kommati laspis. Eplita sto epakro. Ypefera apo prowra girateia." (Ibid: 153), ah! ah! nai, Deli xi-Deli, delik, deli-k diha kapaman!
o[a]r
NA PROFEREIS TIN PRAGMATIKOTITA opws o spourgitis to harama.
Run amok, my cooking utensils!
"...[P]oised between construction and ruin, it 'errupts', it burst into discontinous transformation. Everything is in a continuous process of discontinuous transformation." Howard Caygill, Walter Benjamin, The Colour of Experience
Ploio diarkeias i hwra mou.
Etc(i):
Kemirici Ask ilahi - Kit'at
Perimenw tin wra pou ena
Perivoli eleitiko th' afomoiwsei
T' apovlita olwn twn aiwnwn - pou ena
Koritsi tha kyrixei sto swma tou epanastasi
Wraia me tremouliastes fwnes kai lampidones
Froutwn xanafernwntas tin istoria
Stin afetiria tis
(...)
Piase to PREPEI apo to iwta kai gdare to isame to pi.
["To ouiski, prepei na to pw, xodevotan me rythmo pio argo ap' oti to myalo, ena mpoukali ana dyo meres. Na methas einai to mono efkolo." E. Aranitsis, Ibid: 154]
Background Noise: 1
and 2;
Icon of St. George and the young man of Mytilene,
Mid-13th Century AD, Crusader (a western artist working in the Holy Land),
The Nationa Icon Collection, no. 13, Department of Medieval and Modern Europe, The British Museum
(Strepsate tin prosohi sas sto nearo Lesvio! - Lesvos is the capital of Mytilene and another name for the island (as well as a legendary 'Ouzeri-Kafe-Bar'!)
*All unregistered shots courtesy of Odysseas Elytis, O Mikros Naytilos, 1970-1974 , (1985).
Thursday, February 19, 2004
Kerouac deli mi?
"'Whatever I say Ben, dont mind it, I'm just a fool'----'You said in 1957 in the grass drunk on whiskey you were the greatest thinker in the world'----'That was before I fell asleep and woke up: now I realize I'm no good at all and that makes me feel free' ----'You're not even free being no good, you better stop thinking, that's all'----'I'm glad you visited me today, I think I might have died'----'It's all your fault'----'What are we gonna do with our lives?'----'Oh,' he says, 'I dunno, just watch em I guess'----"
Big Sur Kerouac (164)
Demetris
Demokrasi
Demek
"'Aint nothin wrong with old Nietzche'----''Xcept he went mad too'----'Do you think I'm going mad?'----'Ho ho ho' (hearty laugh)" (162).
Big Sur Kerouac (164)
Demetris
Demokrasi
Demek
"'Aint nothin wrong with old Nietzche'----''Xcept he went mad too'----'Do you think I'm going mad?'----'Ho ho ho' (hearty laugh)" (162).
Chinese Cracker ("It's all Greek to me!")
"...[M]ethod can really bear only on the means of loosening, baffling, or at the very least, of lightening this [inevitable] power....[T]he fundamental operation of this loosening method is, ... fragmentation, digression, or, to put it ina preciously ambiguous word, excursion....[T]o resemble the comings and goings of a child playing beside his mother, leaving her, returning to bring her a pebble, a piece of string, and thereby tracing around a calm center a whole locus of play within which the pebble, the string come to matter less than the enthusiatic giving of them." Roland Barthes, Inaugural Lecture. College de France, January 7, 1977
Oh c'mon! Go-sip! It's just a matter of mastear, 'init?
Dioti 'Parayi veren dudugu calar', ma ontas 'Dedigi dedik dudugu duduk!'
Dem[cekmek]: idou i riza tou kakou ('The piano has been drinking...')
Tesekur ederim! (Am)
[ps! esxcuse the punctuation - i'm missing kirkilouthkia, as if these were not enough!]
Oh c'mon! Go-sip! It's just a matter of mastear, 'init?
Dioti 'Parayi veren dudugu calar', ma ontas 'Dedigi dedik dudugu duduk!'
Dem[cekmek]: idou i riza tou kakou ('The piano has been drinking...')
Tesekur ederim! (Am)
[ps! esxcuse the punctuation - i'm missing kirkilouthkia, as if these were not enough!]
Wednesday, February 18, 2004
Che cos'e la poesia? or 'What (thing) is poetry?'
'Who dares to ask me that? Even though it
remains inapparent, since disappearing is its
law, the answer sees itself (as) dictated (dic-
tation). I am a dictation, pronounces poetry,
learn me by heart, copy me down, guard and
keep me, look out for me, look at me, dictated
dictation, right before your eyes:
soundtrack, wake, trail of light, photograph of
the feast in mourning.
'It sees itself, the response, dictated to be
poetic, by being poetic. And for that reason,
it is obliged to address itself to someone,
singularly to you but as if to the being lost
in anonymity, between city and nature, an
imparted secret, at once public and private,
absolutely one and the other, absolved from
within and from without, neither one nor the
other, the animal thrown onto the road,
absolute, solitary, rolled up in a ball, next to
(it)self. And for that very reason, it may get
itself run over, just so, the herisson, istrice in
Italian, in English, hedgehog.'
(Jacques Derrida, Che cos'e la poesia,1988)
remains inapparent, since disappearing is its
law, the answer sees itself (as) dictated (dic-
tation). I am a dictation, pronounces poetry,
learn me by heart, copy me down, guard and
keep me, look out for me, look at me, dictated
dictation, right before your eyes:
soundtrack, wake, trail of light, photograph of
the feast in mourning.
'It sees itself, the response, dictated to be
poetic, by being poetic. And for that reason,
it is obliged to address itself to someone,
singularly to you but as if to the being lost
in anonymity, between city and nature, an
imparted secret, at once public and private,
absolutely one and the other, absolved from
within and from without, neither one nor the
other, the animal thrown onto the road,
absolute, solitary, rolled up in a ball, next to
(it)self. And for that very reason, it may get
itself run over, just so, the herisson, istrice in
Italian, in English, hedgehog.'
(Jacques Derrida, Che cos'e la poesia,1988)
Saturday, February 14, 2004
D[oars]
Ep efkairias Paraskevis, +13 Fevrari 2004 Or 'Avrion pale'
IX
Makry zeimbekiko gia ton Achillea:
"To write is to produce a mark that will constitute a kind of machine that is in turn productive, that my future disappearance in principle will not prevent from functioning and from yielding, and yielding itself to, reading and rewriting... For the written to be written, it must continue to "act" and to be legible even if what is called the author of the writing no longer answers for what he has written, for what he seems to have signed, whether he is provisionally absent, or if he is dead, or if in general he does not support, with his absolutely current and present intention or attention, the plentitude of his meaning, of that very thing which seems to be written "in his name."."
Jacques Derrida, Signature, Event, Context
Ftou! Xeleutheria: Endangering the caution-s and in another language the pss! and the shh-s, the 'cutting' of the telephone line, the line of the live feed, the line of the tele-phonic [how many times haven't we oh! dear voyagers, been murdered by the tele-phone (and he hated, Hey Joe!, he hated the mobility of the murder, the postponement of the shoooooting, -it is not by coincidence that his favourite drumers, his favourite rollers, were, are, Mitch Mitchell and Elvin Jones, were the future pesent was always past perfect in their rolls, 'always already' announcing the lead, the cable, the electricity, the electric- the telephone which stressed and extended, carried along, here, and ha(l)lo, yes to paraphrase the para-phraser, the meta-phraser of the maeutic-phraser, is not pinned down, not plugged that is, not to be found itemised on a bill sheet, "shit!", indeed and in on the contrary, that is on the contrary of bodily desire, is and has always been, always already been, the haunting voice of the discourse, of the Logos that is, en apousia ton matiwn, (pws na sa agapisw mana[mou] ek tou makrw/then?), the vox populi of the 'people', that has murdered, oh! so many times], and the tele-phonic liveliness, a leave, a 'shore leave' from the 'rocking dream boat' [athanate Bugs Bunny- and I did wake up, last night with a Merlot, a Coke (for a female partner) and a basket awaiting for 'bunnies' or, a 'Bunny Hill'], which is never, and not only, never only the telephone 'call', never that, God Forbid!, the voice, the Word of the cull, but before the cull of the voice and the word-cull, is called, it seems, the threat of the 'commitment'. Of the commiting 'down to paper', of writing. "A being that no 'logic' can confine within a noncontradictory definition...neither living nor dead".
Gia (ap)afto [residence of Greece: :-)], Ftou!, Xeleuftheria! Gia touto;
X
Seam-ioseis gia ena porn-OH!-graphema:
"...Ontas kopei kavatzin
Trigyrw tou petasounte 300 parapoulia."
Ki apo tin mia mytho-logia stin alli- apo tin fterna, diladi, sto nou, ston efialti: oneiremeno, kai evgevsto, efaltirio, efapax. Ma ki opws kathe pax, me tous orous tis, pou i his-storia polles fores mas tou para-tonise kai egina oroi (me ton tono sto teliko 'i'-kai ehou allou grapsei gia touto to 'i', to 'iwta' daseia). Efapax,to loipon se mia dosi kai dia pantws, ma me 'residude','apo-tamiefsi' i tmimatiki dia-skorpisi tou posou syn-taxiwdiotisis, kai ohi spania gia spitia stin exohi, eis s'alla meri, i to xodema s'aftokinito kai 'oneiremenous' pro-orismous, pou kapws itan akatorthwtoi prin to efapax. Tin monimotita tou 'oneirikou'. Ashetws an to -apax, diarkei mono mia stigmi, mono mia stigmoula. Kai panta meta.Edw einai to risko:
Kai etsi;
With Tea and Apple he walked up Kingsway as he would have and as he did walk, up, Champs Elysee, and how, well, at least for sometime, on some ocassions, and this was, had to be one of them, he walked the Stadium, the University and the Academy, all of them 'streets'.!. up and down, up and down, up and down, with a paper bag, now, in his hand, well sort of, hanging of his fingers, of white nylon rope, the kind of rope you find on those plastic dingies, with names like 'Explorer 300' and a hawk, or a falcon on the front, the last one to get deflated this hawk, this falcon, !, with the oars, plastic as well, of a different cosistency, this dingies, marking the sea, always calm, always aloof, stupid, dirty bastard, greenish mouldy bitch, and marking the surface beneath it, at an angle, that is you had to turn those oars round and round at an angle so to mark the way in and back. Then usually we would just sit at its front, or its back, where all thing came out, from where all things came out and from where it started with the dingy, orange, stuck in the mud, and our dicks stuck from the mud. Only peas. That's how in a sense, a sense of guiltiness and a huge smile was reflecting, a smile of 'guiltiness', onto and from the facades, and into the asses, anusses [from Mid. E. anus "a ring"], and the dog and the kid and the pampers and the dog food and the dog life and the doggy kid, dogging around every fucking dog's day n' night, and their legs up, up, up dear, and push, push, push, push for Lord's sake, and yes nurse I would have another one of that thing your offering me, rice or whatever is made of, grain and seeds and ashes to ashes and earth to earth, ekei pou eisai eimouna kai ekei pou eimai tha 'rtheis, dehese n' allaxoumen twra, na aleifto ladi jai xydi jai na tryfto tou kolou [sou/tis - anyway he doesn't get it does he? and it's not that he will hate me whenhe is 8, and crying, 'o mix-is', o bastartos, mes to ftino xenodoheio kai sta sentonia ton pollwn, na kartera na megalwsei (jai jeinos jai i poulou tou!), Fuck you asshole you homophobic reckless pig [Flea 'Pea', Red Hot Chilli Pepers]. Oh the asshole - do people do still fuck up the ass or has the speech erased the phenomenon. God For Give me, me slice of the pies! In the plural, please! He only lived, like, a few numbers up, you know, Charles Dick..
That was how he was coming up, into Kingsway out of the Bush, the Arcade where he befriended with a pen, a styllo, a 'histo', a pole and an a ceausura, or a ceausuratic pole, a pole of no return, a pole at no return, who did it after all in 28 days only, and I mean on foot, tamed and tied, up and down, or I guess, push and pull, and pull, and pull, that was how he was into Kingsway with that smile onto and back from the facades, and into the asses! See Him!- Wie?-als wien ein Lamn, a spotless Lamb, Lamne olan pu dame, ga'ourin, na se portoklotsisw mes ta rizofkia na paeis pou to dimotiko, katw mes to parking ospou na evreis ton kyrio dromo, os'an to potirin to ofjairo, os'an 'kioupi' geron pou monon geros epe-strepse, me palindromiseis kai epi-strofes, jai me tis stoles hamenes. Twra diavazw apo tin vivlo tou, papou.
Ba(c)h! I diki tou itan kaliteri. Melanourenia, Melanouri, Hontri mou Agapi pou arnise na iswsei o nouros sou, jai oi mono, afou mono axinostrafa tsapizeis jai klwtsas tis 'lexeis jai ta pramata' se kolles jai kolloudes, on paper, flat out, laid out laying, liar 'my likeness my brother' 'mon semblance mon amour', opws xaploneis jai x-aplonese, xana, since tou tend, tending, to be generous, Attention!, ALT!, voluptousness, loukos-loukoumi, trenches-benches+love handles, piasimata, piastres kai theseis mahis, opou fullagonte ta pyromachica kai ta ftiaria, syhna pykna retractable, foldable anadiploumena, eis diploun eno ena, Uno, which doubles jai as a fkiari. Kouspos i efkairia: idou I aporia. Opws kai na ehei to prama, opothen jai an taraxei, taragmeno, seismoplikto, gia na kratisoume kai ta palia ta schimmata, whole-heartedly, me oli tou tin krema, glykia mou Melanouri tou vounou kai tou ypogeiou kai to metamesonuhtion afieroseon akoma me koustoumi ["If you are going through hell, keep going…" Winston Churchill, 03:30, me tis kaliteres efhes – kai itan kai jame o winston, entos tou thamnou, up yours diladi, pantahou pliron kai oloi oi kaloi forane – ‘kolympan’- profile, me ton pipwmeno pouro, to pouro! (o tonos sto ‘o’)] eisoun I aformi voitha mou, gia to gelio, ‘guilty one’, bang up their asses. And downstream those thighs, pausing for second, always in commotion, in the trenches behind the knees, in the k-nigh behinds, still on the side of the back, and Plonk! Bloom! apo ta kalamia stis goves kai ta milk-bars, i sta flat pa-pouts-I-a ton koritsiwn me tis omorfes tsantes petreleou, pou ekrivan ta akrivo tatoo. Twn koritsiwn me ta jean, jah! which were unoticingly smiling back, from the side (it) seams, on the street that the hidden phere-phono, the carrier of the voice, and its psuchopompos, pompous Hermes, who let's the lid off, opens it up, un-hermeticizing, the street who joy!, Joyce might have enjoyed, so let us call it JoyceOrchard, archidia!, sto ypsos twn tapelwn pou itan dkyo ma i mia egeire, emaranen, epeses, jai kammia pou tes dkyo en doulefkei, den arithmodotei, tin nychta to dromo tou Bloom,jai dias feneste mou syneheia mes tis kerazies jai tis mouries, mourlos:Bang!Bang! jai PingPlingPlingPlingPlungPlingPlungPlungPlingPlingPlingPlnigPlingPlong!, kapou ji'ame, since he had left by now that after-noon glass reflected smile, before lunch, near 101 [Bar or Room gia files kai gnwstes tou Annus Horribilis, which came after the Yearning of the Rum, and the yerne-ing of the libre leaning of the bar libretto, Lie Thee softly, softly here] (w)here she jumped of the bus and sideways onto the wall with that flashing white light of the jcket in front of the shampoo smelling pink and the pre-valentine's handbag, 'succumbing' BIFF 'to engage with the commodification of romance', and the hair up, up, up, tied. That's how I got after the first three moves the smile from the side (it) seams. Already, now, Melanouri in his pen pocket, in front of his cigarete-case pocket, which was holding his notebook in case he feel down the stairs, and a few inches above the left hand side empty lighter pocket, on the way to mock the blue moon.
Left Right Left Right Left Right Left Right elf write, up, (t)here, commited that is caught up here, as itseams floating, auto-nomous, apaftono-mouse, the ass, co-ordinating the threat within the friday-night crowd, voiceless God!, no words just writing. Kwlo-Graphe!: and yet that's how, with Melanouri from the mountains now in bed, embedded, never pulled, on the contrary always pushed, pouchy poushti, a long distance runner with refills, he was dicovering again, beleiving it or not, durexion outside of the vanguarchina, enduring chopefully, the slow, painfull spiced with pleasure incision, the ceausuras, to tsapisman epi makrothen, tous loukous pou den tha itan pia, ohi, lakoi me ta fidia, ma-ne, mete-wra hamogela, outisde time, flat out.
Hugging the White Mountain which was not his penis, not his pelvis and not his ass, and being not french not that either, he crossed the street and paused to dust off the lower part of the left dust of the left leg breeches, breaching the breeches ta pison. He was not after her anyway, and at the junction she overtook him, while his eyes crossed the perpetual crossings, the flashing lights and the seems. Like fixed, stiched, he crossed, behind. Agorakia pou zitoun tsigaro, Koritsakia pou zitoun fwtia, Oi fili mou oi courriers, joined Hermes, spliffffffffffffffed trips, vzzzzzzzzzzoooooouuuuuuuum!, genaia sfyrygmata kai anw gnathoi kai katw apo to gonato kai mehri to gonato kai panw apo to gonato, kai kaloxyrismena laima kai enydatwmena daktyla: devouring eyes.
3-4-5 rows in front, you apologise and you pass, always near, if at first time you don't succeed, kota! Off the pavement, on the streets, that's how it goes, on and off the streets, and people do spare some money for something hot for them though, something nice and cosy, mai, mai, May, hah?, or June or Vanessa, or Sickfried, or Aima - but that's how it goes, on and off, and behind behinds behind bustops. Through the perspex and the ads, the eyes, Aye!
And somewhere here s|he stops. And turns. And eyes become eyes and I's become I's and in somewhere here a here is to be sounded, a trumpet from the Swiss Alps, that through the digged up tunnels it rings, ugly or beautiful, bald or divine, Thee mou!, what stays, drip, drip, drip it's the Melanouri and those smiles and those reflections, and those flat plateaus, and those geographical similies that would bring him in trouble "Laonia, Kampous jai vouna" (V. Michaelides, I Anerada), with the name soon appearing, ringing, "a promise and a memory that conditions every commitment...this obigatory departure point of all discourse", "of the amen and the hymen" [J. Derrida, Ulysses Gramophone] and what's left en' mia Syrah, alkooliki, apo tin Imatheia, i grammikotita kai o afto-shediasmos, Eugenie, that self-drawing which you have to mastear, and that mastear you need to drive through, mesa apo annus kai kwlo-grafes kai mesa apo pornographemata and the seams.
And the poplar might come down,still white, and lean, ma men mou klamourizese jai vresheis loushia [vrohi anameikti me petres kai laspi]. Varton kappama panw, jai en' na eimasten polloi emeis oi thkyo, mona(c)ha! enas 1>2 jai meta ela na pioumen, sto telos, enan kafen me to tairin tou. Jai en' nan jame i kojiakari i Frosou, o gios tis o titsirokolos ntymenos intianos, o Hermes na kola to lastithon tou poilatou pou etrypien, ji o pio pashalinos barman ston kosmo. Egw kai i Mont Blanc ypografoumen, eidi ento tis kai etsi mplegmenoi mes to ktin jai to ktosherin it seams. Bang, Bang,Bang, Bang, Bang, Bang, na liwsoumen t' athasoudin na kamoumen soumadan. Hliari;
XX
IX
Makry zeimbekiko gia ton Achillea:
"To write is to produce a mark that will constitute a kind of machine that is in turn productive, that my future disappearance in principle will not prevent from functioning and from yielding, and yielding itself to, reading and rewriting... For the written to be written, it must continue to "act" and to be legible even if what is called the author of the writing no longer answers for what he has written, for what he seems to have signed, whether he is provisionally absent, or if he is dead, or if in general he does not support, with his absolutely current and present intention or attention, the plentitude of his meaning, of that very thing which seems to be written "in his name."."
Jacques Derrida, Signature, Event, Context
Ftou! Xeleutheria: Endangering the caution-s and in another language the pss! and the shh-s, the 'cutting' of the telephone line, the line of the live feed, the line of the tele-phonic [how many times haven't we oh! dear voyagers, been murdered by the tele-phone (and he hated, Hey Joe!, he hated the mobility of the murder, the postponement of the shoooooting, -it is not by coincidence that his favourite drumers, his favourite rollers, were, are, Mitch Mitchell and Elvin Jones, were the future pesent was always past perfect in their rolls, 'always already' announcing the lead, the cable, the electricity, the electric- the telephone which stressed and extended, carried along, here, and ha(l)lo, yes to paraphrase the para-phraser, the meta-phraser of the maeutic-phraser, is not pinned down, not plugged that is, not to be found itemised on a bill sheet, "shit!", indeed and in on the contrary, that is on the contrary of bodily desire, is and has always been, always already been, the haunting voice of the discourse, of the Logos that is, en apousia ton matiwn, (pws na sa agapisw mana[mou] ek tou makrw/then?), the vox populi of the 'people', that has murdered, oh! so many times], and the tele-phonic liveliness, a leave, a 'shore leave' from the 'rocking dream boat' [athanate Bugs Bunny- and I did wake up, last night with a Merlot, a Coke (for a female partner) and a basket awaiting for 'bunnies' or, a 'Bunny Hill'], which is never, and not only, never only the telephone 'call', never that, God Forbid!, the voice, the Word of the cull, but before the cull of the voice and the word-cull, is called, it seems, the threat of the 'commitment'. Of the commiting 'down to paper', of writing. "A being that no 'logic' can confine within a noncontradictory definition...neither living nor dead".
Gia (ap)afto [residence of Greece: :-)], Ftou!, Xeleuftheria! Gia touto;
X
Seam-ioseis gia ena porn-OH!-graphema:
"...Ontas kopei kavatzin
Trigyrw tou petasounte 300 parapoulia."
Ki apo tin mia mytho-logia stin alli- apo tin fterna, diladi, sto nou, ston efialti: oneiremeno, kai evgevsto, efaltirio, efapax. Ma ki opws kathe pax, me tous orous tis, pou i his-storia polles fores mas tou para-tonise kai egina oroi (me ton tono sto teliko 'i'-kai ehou allou grapsei gia touto to 'i', to 'iwta' daseia). Efapax,to loipon se mia dosi kai dia pantws, ma me 'residude','apo-tamiefsi' i tmimatiki dia-skorpisi tou posou syn-taxiwdiotisis, kai ohi spania gia spitia stin exohi, eis s'alla meri, i to xodema s'aftokinito kai 'oneiremenous' pro-orismous, pou kapws itan akatorthwtoi prin to efapax. Tin monimotita tou 'oneirikou'. Ashetws an to -apax, diarkei mono mia stigmi, mono mia stigmoula. Kai panta meta.Edw einai to risko:
Kai etsi;
With Tea and Apple he walked up Kingsway as he would have and as he did walk, up, Champs Elysee, and how, well, at least for sometime, on some ocassions, and this was, had to be one of them, he walked the Stadium, the University and the Academy, all of them 'streets'.!. up and down, up and down, up and down, with a paper bag, now, in his hand, well sort of, hanging of his fingers, of white nylon rope, the kind of rope you find on those plastic dingies, with names like 'Explorer 300' and a hawk, or a falcon on the front, the last one to get deflated this hawk, this falcon, !, with the oars, plastic as well, of a different cosistency, this dingies, marking the sea, always calm, always aloof, stupid, dirty bastard, greenish mouldy bitch, and marking the surface beneath it, at an angle, that is you had to turn those oars round and round at an angle so to mark the way in and back. Then usually we would just sit at its front, or its back, where all thing came out, from where all things came out and from where it started with the dingy, orange, stuck in the mud, and our dicks stuck from the mud. Only peas. That's how in a sense, a sense of guiltiness and a huge smile was reflecting, a smile of 'guiltiness', onto and from the facades, and into the asses, anusses [from Mid. E. anus "a ring"], and the dog and the kid and the pampers and the dog food and the dog life and the doggy kid, dogging around every fucking dog's day n' night, and their legs up, up, up dear, and push, push, push, push for Lord's sake, and yes nurse I would have another one of that thing your offering me, rice or whatever is made of, grain and seeds and ashes to ashes and earth to earth, ekei pou eisai eimouna kai ekei pou eimai tha 'rtheis, dehese n' allaxoumen twra, na aleifto ladi jai xydi jai na tryfto tou kolou [sou/tis - anyway he doesn't get it does he? and it's not that he will hate me whenhe is 8, and crying, 'o mix-is', o bastartos, mes to ftino xenodoheio kai sta sentonia ton pollwn, na kartera na megalwsei (jai jeinos jai i poulou tou!), Fuck you asshole you homophobic reckless pig [Flea 'Pea', Red Hot Chilli Pepers]. Oh the asshole - do people do still fuck up the ass or has the speech erased the phenomenon. God For Give me, me slice of the pies! In the plural, please! He only lived, like, a few numbers up, you know, Charles Dick..
That was how he was coming up, into Kingsway out of the Bush, the Arcade where he befriended with a pen, a styllo, a 'histo', a pole and an a ceausura, or a ceausuratic pole, a pole of no return, a pole at no return, who did it after all in 28 days only, and I mean on foot, tamed and tied, up and down, or I guess, push and pull, and pull, and pull, that was how he was into Kingsway with that smile onto and back from the facades, and into the asses! See Him!- Wie?-als wien ein Lamn, a spotless Lamb, Lamne olan pu dame, ga'ourin, na se portoklotsisw mes ta rizofkia na paeis pou to dimotiko, katw mes to parking ospou na evreis ton kyrio dromo, os'an to potirin to ofjairo, os'an 'kioupi' geron pou monon geros epe-strepse, me palindromiseis kai epi-strofes, jai me tis stoles hamenes. Twra diavazw apo tin vivlo tou, papou.
Ba(c)h! I diki tou itan kaliteri. Melanourenia, Melanouri, Hontri mou Agapi pou arnise na iswsei o nouros sou, jai oi mono, afou mono axinostrafa tsapizeis jai klwtsas tis 'lexeis jai ta pramata' se kolles jai kolloudes, on paper, flat out, laid out laying, liar 'my likeness my brother' 'mon semblance mon amour', opws xaploneis jai x-aplonese, xana, since tou tend, tending, to be generous, Attention!, ALT!, voluptousness, loukos-loukoumi, trenches-benches+love handles, piasimata, piastres kai theseis mahis, opou fullagonte ta pyromachica kai ta ftiaria, syhna pykna retractable, foldable anadiploumena, eis diploun eno ena, Uno, which doubles jai as a fkiari. Kouspos i efkairia: idou I aporia. Opws kai na ehei to prama, opothen jai an taraxei, taragmeno, seismoplikto, gia na kratisoume kai ta palia ta schimmata, whole-heartedly, me oli tou tin krema, glykia mou Melanouri tou vounou kai tou ypogeiou kai to metamesonuhtion afieroseon akoma me koustoumi ["If you are going through hell, keep going…" Winston Churchill, 03:30, me tis kaliteres efhes – kai itan kai jame o winston, entos tou thamnou, up yours diladi, pantahou pliron kai oloi oi kaloi forane – ‘kolympan’- profile, me ton pipwmeno pouro, to pouro! (o tonos sto ‘o’)] eisoun I aformi voitha mou, gia to gelio, ‘guilty one’, bang up their asses. And downstream those thighs, pausing for second, always in commotion, in the trenches behind the knees, in the k-nigh behinds, still on the side of the back, and Plonk! Bloom! apo ta kalamia stis goves kai ta milk-bars, i sta flat pa-pouts-I-a ton koritsiwn me tis omorfes tsantes petreleou, pou ekrivan ta akrivo tatoo. Twn koritsiwn me ta jean, jah! which were unoticingly smiling back, from the side (it) seams, on the street that the hidden phere-phono, the carrier of the voice, and its psuchopompos, pompous Hermes, who let's the lid off, opens it up, un-hermeticizing, the street who joy!, Joyce might have enjoyed, so let us call it JoyceOrchard, archidia!, sto ypsos twn tapelwn pou itan dkyo ma i mia egeire, emaranen, epeses, jai kammia pou tes dkyo en doulefkei, den arithmodotei, tin nychta to dromo tou Bloom,jai dias feneste mou syneheia mes tis kerazies jai tis mouries, mourlos:Bang!Bang! jai PingPlingPlingPlingPlungPlingPlungPlungPlingPlingPlingPlnigPlingPlong!, kapou ji'ame, since he had left by now that after-noon glass reflected smile, before lunch, near 101 [Bar or Room gia files kai gnwstes tou Annus Horribilis, which came after the Yearning of the Rum, and the yerne-ing of the libre leaning of the bar libretto, Lie Thee softly, softly here] (w)here she jumped of the bus and sideways onto the wall with that flashing white light of the jcket in front of the shampoo smelling pink and the pre-valentine's handbag, 'succumbing' BIFF 'to engage with the commodification of romance', and the hair up, up, up, tied. That's how I got after the first three moves the smile from the side (it) seams. Already, now, Melanouri in his pen pocket, in front of his cigarete-case pocket, which was holding his notebook in case he feel down the stairs, and a few inches above the left hand side empty lighter pocket, on the way to mock the blue moon.
Left Right Left Right Left Right Left Right elf write, up, (t)here, commited that is caught up here, as itseams floating, auto-nomous, apaftono-mouse, the ass, co-ordinating the threat within the friday-night crowd, voiceless God!, no words just writing. Kwlo-Graphe!: and yet that's how, with Melanouri from the mountains now in bed, embedded, never pulled, on the contrary always pushed, pouchy poushti, a long distance runner with refills, he was dicovering again, beleiving it or not, durexion outside of the vanguarchina, enduring chopefully, the slow, painfull spiced with pleasure incision, the ceausuras, to tsapisman epi makrothen, tous loukous pou den tha itan pia, ohi, lakoi me ta fidia, ma-ne, mete-wra hamogela, outisde time, flat out.
Hugging the White Mountain which was not his penis, not his pelvis and not his ass, and being not french not that either, he crossed the street and paused to dust off the lower part of the left dust of the left leg breeches, breaching the breeches ta pison. He was not after her anyway, and at the junction she overtook him, while his eyes crossed the perpetual crossings, the flashing lights and the seems. Like fixed, stiched, he crossed, behind. Agorakia pou zitoun tsigaro, Koritsakia pou zitoun fwtia, Oi fili mou oi courriers, joined Hermes, spliffffffffffffffed trips, vzzzzzzzzzzoooooouuuuuuuum!, genaia sfyrygmata kai anw gnathoi kai katw apo to gonato kai mehri to gonato kai panw apo to gonato, kai kaloxyrismena laima kai enydatwmena daktyla: devouring eyes.
3-4-5 rows in front, you apologise and you pass, always near, if at first time you don't succeed, kota! Off the pavement, on the streets, that's how it goes, on and off the streets, and people do spare some money for something hot for them though, something nice and cosy, mai, mai, May, hah?, or June or Vanessa, or Sickfried, or Aima - but that's how it goes, on and off, and behind behinds behind bustops. Through the perspex and the ads, the eyes, Aye!
And somewhere here s|he stops. And turns. And eyes become eyes and I's become I's and in somewhere here a here is to be sounded, a trumpet from the Swiss Alps, that through the digged up tunnels it rings, ugly or beautiful, bald or divine, Thee mou!, what stays, drip, drip, drip it's the Melanouri and those smiles and those reflections, and those flat plateaus, and those geographical similies that would bring him in trouble "Laonia, Kampous jai vouna" (V. Michaelides, I Anerada), with the name soon appearing, ringing, "a promise and a memory that conditions every commitment...this obigatory departure point of all discourse", "of the amen and the hymen" [J. Derrida, Ulysses Gramophone] and what's left en' mia Syrah, alkooliki, apo tin Imatheia, i grammikotita kai o afto-shediasmos, Eugenie, that self-drawing which you have to mastear, and that mastear you need to drive through, mesa apo annus kai kwlo-grafes kai mesa apo pornographemata and the seams.
And the poplar might come down,still white, and lean, ma men mou klamourizese jai vresheis loushia [vrohi anameikti me petres kai laspi]. Varton kappama panw, jai en' na eimasten polloi emeis oi thkyo, mona(c)ha! enas 1>2 jai meta ela na pioumen, sto telos, enan kafen me to tairin tou. Jai en' nan jame i kojiakari i Frosou, o gios tis o titsirokolos ntymenos intianos, o Hermes na kola to lastithon tou poilatou pou etrypien, ji o pio pashalinos barman ston kosmo. Egw kai i Mont Blanc ypografoumen, eidi ento tis kai etsi mplegmenoi mes to ktin jai to ktosherin it seams. Bang, Bang,Bang, Bang, Bang, Bang, na liwsoumen t' athasoudin na kamoumen soumadan. Hliari;
XX
Friday, February 13, 2004
Wednesday, February 11, 2004
Gia tou logou to alithes
Mα ο φόβος θέ' να τον κρατεί, για κείνο δεν το δείχνει,
μόνο τη νύκτα, στο σκοπό, παραπετρές μού ρίχνει.
Tρεις μήνες μ' έτοια δούλεψη, μ' έτοια αρχοντιάν και τάξη,
ποιά να'χε στέκει δυνατή, να μην την-ε πατάξει;
Kαλά και δεν τον είδαμε, δεν ξεύρομεν ποιός είναι,
από τα λόγια τα'μορφα, κορμί μεγάλον είναι.
Aπ' ό,τι κάλλη έχει άνθρωπος, τα λόγια έχουν τη χάρη
να κάμουσιν κάθε καρδιάν παρηγοριά να πάρει·
κι οπού κατέχει να μιλεί με γνώσιν και με τρόπον,
κάνει και κλαίσιν και γελούν τα μάτια των ανθρώπων.
(Κορναρος, Ερωτοκριτος, στιχοι 865-70)
Lord, I am not worthy
Lord, I am not worthy
but speak the word only
(T. S. Eliot, Ash-wednesday, III, lines 118-20)
ΣΤΗΝ ΑΡΧΗ το φως Kαι η ώpα η πpώτη
που τα χείλη ακόμη στον πηλό
δοκιμάζουν τα πράγματα του κόσμου
Αίμα πράσινο και βολβοί στη γη χρυσοί
Πανωραία στον ύπνο της άπλωσε και η θάλασσα
γάζες αιθέρος τις αλεύκαντες
κάτω απ' τις χαρουπιές και τους μεγάλους όρθιους φοίνικες
Εκεί μόνος αντίκρισα
τον κόσμο
κλαίγοντας γοερά
Η ψυχή μου ζητούσε Σηματωρό και Κήρυκα
(Αξιον Εστιν, Μερος Α', στιχοι 1-11)
'Ισως ποτέ να μην υπήρξε μεγαλείτερος καημός απ'
τον δικό της
'Ισως ποτέ να μην έπεσαν ψίθυροι πιο πεπυρακτω-
μένοι στην επιφάνεια ενός προσώπου
'Ισως ποτέ δεν εξετέθη στην κατανόησι ανθρώπου
έκθεσις πιο εκτεταμένη
'Εκθεσις πιο ποικίλη πιο περιεκτική από την ιστο-
ρία που λεν τα νέφη αυτής της εξομολογήσεως
(Ανδρεας Εμπειρικος, 'Εαρ σαν Παντα', στιχοι 7-14)
μόνο τη νύκτα, στο σκοπό, παραπετρές μού ρίχνει.
Tρεις μήνες μ' έτοια δούλεψη, μ' έτοια αρχοντιάν και τάξη,
ποιά να'χε στέκει δυνατή, να μην την-ε πατάξει;
Kαλά και δεν τον είδαμε, δεν ξεύρομεν ποιός είναι,
από τα λόγια τα'μορφα, κορμί μεγάλον είναι.
Aπ' ό,τι κάλλη έχει άνθρωπος, τα λόγια έχουν τη χάρη
να κάμουσιν κάθε καρδιάν παρηγοριά να πάρει·
κι οπού κατέχει να μιλεί με γνώσιν και με τρόπον,
κάνει και κλαίσιν και γελούν τα μάτια των ανθρώπων.
(Κορναρος, Ερωτοκριτος, στιχοι 865-70)
Lord, I am not worthy
Lord, I am not worthy
but speak the word only
(T. S. Eliot, Ash-wednesday, III, lines 118-20)
ΣΤΗΝ ΑΡΧΗ το φως Kαι η ώpα η πpώτη
που τα χείλη ακόμη στον πηλό
δοκιμάζουν τα πράγματα του κόσμου
Αίμα πράσινο και βολβοί στη γη χρυσοί
Πανωραία στον ύπνο της άπλωσε και η θάλασσα
γάζες αιθέρος τις αλεύκαντες
κάτω απ' τις χαρουπιές και τους μεγάλους όρθιους φοίνικες
Εκεί μόνος αντίκρισα
τον κόσμο
κλαίγοντας γοερά
Η ψυχή μου ζητούσε Σηματωρό και Κήρυκα
(Αξιον Εστιν, Μερος Α', στιχοι 1-11)
'Ισως ποτέ να μην υπήρξε μεγαλείτερος καημός απ'
τον δικό της
'Ισως ποτέ να μην έπεσαν ψίθυροι πιο πεπυρακτω-
μένοι στην επιφάνεια ενός προσώπου
'Ισως ποτέ δεν εξετέθη στην κατανόησι ανθρώπου
έκθεσις πιο εκτεταμένη
'Εκθεσις πιο ποικίλη πιο περιεκτική από την ιστο-
ρία που λεν τα νέφη αυτής της εξομολογήσεως
(Ανδρεας Εμπειρικος, 'Εαρ σαν Παντα', στιχοι 7-14)
Wednesday, February 04, 2004
I read, much of the night
The eyes are not here
There are no eyes here
In this valley of dying stars
In this hollow valley
This broken jaw of our lost kingdoms
In this last of meeting places
We grope together
And avoid speech
(The Hollow Men, lines 52-9)
And - for let us assume that there was something prior to this - what do you call an empty term, self-referential, pure indexical in nature; an unsound, vocal, oral taxidi, 'in forgetful snow', in solitude; how do you read Silence in a text? Isn't this voice a voice, isn't its existence its nothingness too?
For, Alexandra and the rest, tracing the voice and their Unreality (eprospathises potte na akouseis mian leksi?) will lead us - even though it already did - to the protagonists. Ghosts with no shadows, eipes.
: the choral voice from within, the universal and the particular, the randomly - though not chancy - voiced/ that 'I' or 'it' isn't it necessarily some-thing, queer in existence yes, even if it is actually not? Isn't Unreal real? Isn't the 'I' though unreal yet ISN'T it? and how important is the negation!
Nai je den pistefkw ston eauto (eipa sou) giati o eautos ennen 'I', en kati para-panw je para-katw - it is the object and the subject the 'I' refers to. to 'I' en i glwssa mas, emeis (an iparxei etsi prama) eimaste to 'en i...mas'.
April is the cruelest month, breeding
Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing
Memory and desire, stirring
Dull roots with spring rain.
Winter kept us warm, covering
Earth in forgetful snow, feeding
A little life with dried tubers.
Summer surprised us, coming over the Starnbergersee
With a shower of rain; we stopped in the colonnade,
And went on in sunlight, into the Hofgarten,
And drank coffee, and talked for an hour.
Bin gar keine Russin, stamm' aus Litauen, echt deutsch. 12
And when we were children, staying at the arch-duke's,
My cousin's, he took me out on a sled,
And I was frightened. He said, Marie,
Marie, hold on tight. And down we went.
In the mountains, there you feel free.
I read, much of the night, and go south in the winter.
(The Burial of the Dead lines 1-18)
Katalavenw ti eipes, pws en mporw na kamw attribute tipote se kanenan, pws en mporw na dw pws touto to 'I' and tis Marie. Alla to 'I' must be necessariy - I take it - kapiou - enan onoma, enan token - however empty. I Marie en iparxei, to 'I' leei to i Marie omws.
There are no eyes here
In this valley of dying stars
In this hollow valley
This broken jaw of our lost kingdoms
In this last of meeting places
We grope together
And avoid speech
(The Hollow Men, lines 52-9)
And - for let us assume that there was something prior to this - what do you call an empty term, self-referential, pure indexical in nature; an unsound, vocal, oral taxidi, 'in forgetful snow', in solitude; how do you read Silence in a text? Isn't this voice a voice, isn't its existence its nothingness too?
For, Alexandra and the rest, tracing the voice and their Unreality (eprospathises potte na akouseis mian leksi?) will lead us - even though it already did - to the protagonists. Ghosts with no shadows, eipes.
: the choral voice from within, the universal and the particular, the randomly - though not chancy - voiced/ that 'I' or 'it' isn't it necessarily some-thing, queer in existence yes, even if it is actually not? Isn't Unreal real? Isn't the 'I' though unreal yet ISN'T it? and how important is the negation!
Nai je den pistefkw ston eauto (eipa sou) giati o eautos ennen 'I', en kati para-panw je para-katw - it is the object and the subject the 'I' refers to. to 'I' en i glwssa mas, emeis (an iparxei etsi prama) eimaste to 'en i...mas'.
April is the cruelest month, breeding
Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing
Memory and desire, stirring
Dull roots with spring rain.
Winter kept us warm, covering
Earth in forgetful snow, feeding
A little life with dried tubers.
Summer surprised us, coming over the Starnbergersee
With a shower of rain; we stopped in the colonnade,
And went on in sunlight, into the Hofgarten,
And drank coffee, and talked for an hour.
Bin gar keine Russin, stamm' aus Litauen, echt deutsch. 12
And when we were children, staying at the arch-duke's,
My cousin's, he took me out on a sled,
And I was frightened. He said, Marie,
Marie, hold on tight. And down we went.
In the mountains, there you feel free.
I read, much of the night, and go south in the winter.
(The Burial of the Dead lines 1-18)
Katalavenw ti eipes, pws en mporw na kamw attribute tipote se kanenan, pws en mporw na dw pws touto to 'I' and tis Marie. Alla to 'I' must be necessariy - I take it - kapiou - enan onoma, enan token - however empty. I Marie en iparxei, to 'I' leei to i Marie omws.
oi patates tis monaxias
The first real grip I ever got on things
Was when I learned the art of pedalling
(By hand) a bike turned upside down, and drove
Its back wheel preternaturally fast.
I loved the disappearance of the spokes,
The way the space between the hub and rim
Hummed with transparency. If you threw
A potato into it, the hooped air
Spun mush and drizzle back into your face;
If you touched it with a straw, the straw frittered.
Something about the way those pedal treads
Worked very palpably at first against you
And then began to sweep your hand ahead
Into a new momentum - that all entered me
Like an access of free power, as if belief
Caught up and spun the objects of belief
In an orbit coterminous with longing.
Part I from "Wheels within Wheels" - Seamus Heaney (epitelous)
Christos: Solitude is a spatial notion (an external world) which the protagonists (human bodies) are part of.
simfono dame. solitude can be felt through space, oi mono o adeios topos, alla jai to gefiri tou tseliot (kypriaka: cheliot) pou en oulloi pintomeni messti monaxian tous. i monaxia erkete pou exw jai pou mesa, 'entered me' ma jinos arxisen to 'new momentum'.
Alla lalei to jai o christos touto: Solitude, like silence, is often a safe place to be. Solitude conceived as silence is an interesting analogy for silence (like solitude) is always around: it exists inside and around us, its existence is everything else’s inexistence and it often seems inherited in us – everyone carries with them a silence.
Gerontion: "I am an old man, / A dull head among windy spaces... I have no ghosts, / An old man in a draughty house / Under a windy knob... I have lost my sight, smell, hearing, taste and touch: How should I use them for your closer contact?"
III
Nothing rose to the occasion after that
Until, in a circus ring, drumrolled and spotlit,
Cowgirls wheeled in, each one immaculate
At the still centre of a lariat.
Perpetuum mobile. Sheer pirouette.
Tumblers. Jongleurs. Ring-a-rosies. Stet!
- Heaney (yet again)
Stamata! Stet! - Stetson! / You who were with me in the ships at Mylae! O Heaney stamata? teliwnei?o Eliot teleiwnei potte tou? Shantih. "The Peace which passeth understanding" lalei. Pamen pisw pale, xanathkiavazaoume, reread, resee (=) revise, kai san miloumen kamnoumen touto pou lalei jai o Levenson: The poem develops not by resolving conflicts but by enlarging contexts, by establishing relations between contexts, by situating motifs within an increasingly elaborate set of cultural parallels – by widening . We widen, we explore, there are no limitations, no Stet.
But enough was not enough. Who ever saw
The limit in the given anyhow?
- Part II
On the side (mian merida patates): en simfonw me to "I" sou christo, pou xereis oti en i marie pou lalei oti pai 'south in the winter'? pws mboreis na laleis oti iparxoun 'protagonists' pou tin stigmi pou en pistefkeis ston 'eauto' (etsi mou ipes mian nixta stin new)?
i giagia sou en eshi lathos.
Was when I learned the art of pedalling
(By hand) a bike turned upside down, and drove
Its back wheel preternaturally fast.
I loved the disappearance of the spokes,
The way the space between the hub and rim
Hummed with transparency. If you threw
A potato into it, the hooped air
Spun mush and drizzle back into your face;
If you touched it with a straw, the straw frittered.
Something about the way those pedal treads
Worked very palpably at first against you
And then began to sweep your hand ahead
Into a new momentum - that all entered me
Like an access of free power, as if belief
Caught up and spun the objects of belief
In an orbit coterminous with longing.
Part I from "Wheels within Wheels" - Seamus Heaney (epitelous)
Christos: Solitude is a spatial notion (an external world) which the protagonists (human bodies) are part of.
simfono dame. solitude can be felt through space, oi mono o adeios topos, alla jai to gefiri tou tseliot (kypriaka: cheliot) pou en oulloi pintomeni messti monaxian tous. i monaxia erkete pou exw jai pou mesa, 'entered me' ma jinos arxisen to 'new momentum'.
Alla lalei to jai o christos touto: Solitude, like silence, is often a safe place to be. Solitude conceived as silence is an interesting analogy for silence (like solitude) is always around: it exists inside and around us, its existence is everything else’s inexistence and it often seems inherited in us – everyone carries with them a silence.
Gerontion: "I am an old man, / A dull head among windy spaces... I have no ghosts, / An old man in a draughty house / Under a windy knob... I have lost my sight, smell, hearing, taste and touch: How should I use them for your closer contact?"
III
Nothing rose to the occasion after that
Until, in a circus ring, drumrolled and spotlit,
Cowgirls wheeled in, each one immaculate
At the still centre of a lariat.
Perpetuum mobile. Sheer pirouette.
Tumblers. Jongleurs. Ring-a-rosies. Stet!
- Heaney (yet again)
Stamata! Stet! - Stetson! / You who were with me in the ships at Mylae! O Heaney stamata? teliwnei?o Eliot teleiwnei potte tou? Shantih. "The Peace which passeth understanding" lalei. Pamen pisw pale, xanathkiavazaoume, reread, resee (=) revise, kai san miloumen kamnoumen touto pou lalei jai o Levenson: The poem develops not by resolving conflicts but by enlarging contexts, by establishing relations between contexts, by situating motifs within an increasingly elaborate set of cultural parallels – by widening . We widen, we explore, there are no limitations, no Stet.
But enough was not enough. Who ever saw
The limit in the given anyhow?
- Part II
On the side (mian merida patates): en simfonw me to "I" sou christo, pou xereis oti en i marie pou lalei oti pai 'south in the winter'? pws mboreis na laleis oti iparxoun 'protagonists' pou tin stigmi pou en pistefkeis ston 'eauto' (etsi mou ipes mian nixta stin new)?
i giagia sou en eshi lathos.
Tuesday, February 03, 2004
And so it goes and/or *'Monaksia jismou!'
Gia tis Alexandras to essay 'The Waste Land in motion' pou mou estille/
ke a-prattontas toso jero na grapsw, afirimenos ws ek toutou tou self-reflexive negation gia to opoio grafei o Eliot (je pollwn allwn/je polloi alloi), skeptomenos ton Wittgenstein je ton Nick Cave, tha grapsw - elpizw-:
Grafei i Alexandra:
Eliot starts with “Unreal City,” the capitalization suggesting a name of a real city, but the meaning of the name negating the reality of such a city. Already we have an image being undermined by its very name, that then reappears on line 207, and is then left unfinished on line 377: “Falling towers / Jerusalem Athens Alexandria / Vienna London / Unreal.” By associating real cities of past and present with the self-negating “Unreal City”, Eliot calls into question the reality of those cities themselves. He is by no means saying that they do not exist, but is suggesting that the Jerusalem, Athens and Alexandria of the past are perceived in such a way that is not true, or real.
Daneizomenos (unreally?) ton stixo tou Eliot pou to Prufrock 'nor was meant to be' skeftoume pws o Eliot kalei or calls into question (ti thriliki ekfrasi/idea!) the unreality of those cities (which are actually concepts/'broken images' of the past) into a question-answer game. Je dame (here diladi) erkete to self-reflexitivity tou unreal.
'Unreal' or 'I'
Pou ti stigmi pou leeis 'I' (laloun osoi oi pistoi tou Wittgenstein akolouthoi) simenei oti Allready(even though unready) iparxeis epeidi akrivws 'I' is a referential term, it self-refers to the very 'token' used, opws aman les 'now', 'today', 'here'- self-reflexive tokens. These pure indexicals are complete and need not be completed by a demonstration or ostensive reference to anything else. Je (prospathw) eksigw:
Aman grafei o Eliot 'Unreal' i idia i leksi (token) mporei na eks-igithei mono self-reflexively. If 'I' can be defined in terms of 'the person who utters this token/who says 'I'', to idio me to Unreal: Unreal can be defined in terms of the thing/the no-thing who/which says/means 'Unreal''.
Je touton to, If I may, to Unthing akrivws psaxnei je o Eliot, je -nomizw- i Alexandra:
Tiresias is in fragments before appearing in whole, fused with the rapist, “foresuffering” the sex/rape scene that follows between the typist and the clerk. In this way, Tiresias is not the protagonist of the poem, but rather, part of its shifting system, himself foreseen before his appearance.
To Unreal City tou Eliot mporei na eksigithei mono cyclically/ aman les Unreal proiparxei to real - ena real pou ennen pragmatiko mias je eine en genei je en idi unreal. Je dame thimoume ton demetri pou eipe gia sigkeneis, self-reflexive:
den yparhei syngenneia kata monas, den yparhei syngenneis monos, i monadikos, o syngenneis den einai 'syn-trofos' / 'syn-trofimos' ('two or three things... [from within this pain]'-Sunday, February 01, 2004)
Je en mporw na milw gia touto to Unreality tis idias tis glwssas (en-telei) pou mporei na eks(w)igithei mono mesa pou ton idio tis ton eauto, je na men kataliksw/pale na milisw gia tin Monaksia. Tin monaksia MAS (na, idi, to prwto negation/pure indexical), gia tin monaksia pou (san leksi-sin-grafomeni) iparxei molis tin grapseis ara eksafanizete opws to Unreal pou ti stigmi pou to grapseis/peis/skefteis en pio alithino pou to unreal. Alla egw en tha milisw gia toutin tin monaksia alla gia tin allin, ne tin allin, tin perpetual, yet yes In Perpetuum.
Grafei o Kaknavatos:
'Ypersintelikos st' apsenti lofio tou
feggarovotanou pali monos
in perpetuum
aniforizw dixws sou ton pagetwna
pou eisai?
sou 'lega pws to mesonixti einai apo sin-
nefo gia touto kathete sta matia gia
touto pia lousmeno ston idrwta tou san
pou' kane to xreos tou pou esfakse
isixazei twra to maxairi
pou eisai?
w pws fisaei anamesa stis lekseis afise
panw tous t'auga tou o anemos to xwma
ksexwse to soi tou den perniete o kala-
miwnas tosoi iskioi
Tha rthei me fidia i galini
pou eisai?
Ti erimia
oute taksi
oute to fantasma mou
pou eisai?'
Unreal, ne, na milas monos sou, na rwtas monos sou, na grafeis ke na xamogelas/kathe sou kafes ke fotografia/ kathe dromaki tis polis sou nane omoikatalikto!
Socrates to Theaetetus: 'And if someone thinks mustn't he think something?'
Th.: 'Yes, je must.'
Soc.: 'And if he thinks something, mustn't it be something real?'
Th.: 'Apparently.'
(Theaetetus 189a; Part I, p.518)
Na min eine i monaksia san Kalokairi (unreal mes tin omixli tou fevrari)/ta kalokairia pou tha 'rthoun
To kalokairi mas krataei ksipnious
ap to roxalisma twn fullwn
tou xeimwna twn noimatwn i tin animpori
mpora - gimni ke ipogeia, aneksantliti
diarrikti ke athampwti i fwni
sou:
'tha me dw na se perimenw'
na min eine tis vroxis to mourmourito
to fagwma tis sarkas; oxi
i diaolotrofi twn essw mas oneirwn,
ta terata pou kouvalisame stis rages mas na
min einai ki auta
i monaksia. e?
Grafei o Gkatsos:
'Mia panagia mian agapi mou exw kleisei
s'erimoklisi alargino
kathe vradia tis kardias ti porta anoigw
koitazw ligo ke proskinw
Pote tha'rthei to kalokairi
pote t'asteri th'anastithei
na sou foresw sta malia xriso stefani
san pirofani st'akrogialia'
Touta oulla/poses lekseis/poses wres/posa tsigara spatalisa panw sou, monaksia na se dw, na se anteksw pou monos mou/ monaksia Unreal. Je den eine to 'perpetual solitude' (oso arrwsto je an akouete) mia aisia, omorfi eksodos? Na mporesoume na xwrisoume tin monaksia? na tin poume aisiodoksi? Oxi - en nomizw. Na tin valoume se xrono? I monaksia en jeu/epi skinis, (t)here eis to ombion.
Grafei O Levenson je grafei i Alexandra:
“The Waste Land expands its historical view and just when it seems to have established a coherent temporal standpoint it expands again… The widening perspectives cannot be regarded as concentric circles which enclose and confirm one another…To the facile opinion that The Waste Land opposes the present to the past, one must immediately rejoin, which past?”
Akrivws!
Na min eine i monaksia a coherent In perpetuum circle? Na min eine Unreal City? (there is more besides London): grafei o Nick Cave:
There is a town
Where I was born
Far far away
Across the sea
And in that town
Where I was born
I would dream
That one day
I would leave
And cross the sea
And so it goes
And so it seems
That God lives only in our dreams
In our dreams
And now I live
In this town
I walk these dark streets
Up and down, up and down
Under a dark sky
And I dream
That one day
I'll go back home
(Nocturama, 'There is a town')
*men masheste, enna ginei re-edited - akoma en eipa tipote.
ke a-prattontas toso jero na grapsw, afirimenos ws ek toutou tou self-reflexive negation gia to opoio grafei o Eliot (je pollwn allwn/je polloi alloi), skeptomenos ton Wittgenstein je ton Nick Cave, tha grapsw - elpizw-:
Grafei i Alexandra:
Eliot starts with “Unreal City,” the capitalization suggesting a name of a real city, but the meaning of the name negating the reality of such a city. Already we have an image being undermined by its very name, that then reappears on line 207, and is then left unfinished on line 377: “Falling towers / Jerusalem Athens Alexandria / Vienna London / Unreal.” By associating real cities of past and present with the self-negating “Unreal City”, Eliot calls into question the reality of those cities themselves. He is by no means saying that they do not exist, but is suggesting that the Jerusalem, Athens and Alexandria of the past are perceived in such a way that is not true, or real.
Daneizomenos (unreally?) ton stixo tou Eliot pou to Prufrock 'nor was meant to be' skeftoume pws o Eliot kalei or calls into question (ti thriliki ekfrasi/idea!) the unreality of those cities (which are actually concepts/'broken images' of the past) into a question-answer game. Je dame (here diladi) erkete to self-reflexitivity tou unreal.
'Unreal' or 'I'
Pou ti stigmi pou leeis 'I' (laloun osoi oi pistoi tou Wittgenstein akolouthoi) simenei oti Allready(even though unready) iparxeis epeidi akrivws 'I' is a referential term, it self-refers to the very 'token' used, opws aman les 'now', 'today', 'here'- self-reflexive tokens. These pure indexicals are complete and need not be completed by a demonstration or ostensive reference to anything else. Je (prospathw) eksigw:
Aman grafei o Eliot 'Unreal' i idia i leksi (token) mporei na eks-igithei mono self-reflexively. If 'I' can be defined in terms of 'the person who utters this token/who says 'I'', to idio me to Unreal: Unreal can be defined in terms of the thing/the no-thing who/which says/means 'Unreal''.
Je touton to, If I may, to Unthing akrivws psaxnei je o Eliot, je -nomizw- i Alexandra:
Tiresias is in fragments before appearing in whole, fused with the rapist, “foresuffering” the sex/rape scene that follows between the typist and the clerk. In this way, Tiresias is not the protagonist of the poem, but rather, part of its shifting system, himself foreseen before his appearance.
To Unreal City tou Eliot mporei na eksigithei mono cyclically/ aman les Unreal proiparxei to real - ena real pou ennen pragmatiko mias je eine en genei je en idi unreal. Je dame thimoume ton demetri pou eipe gia sigkeneis, self-reflexive:
den yparhei syngenneia kata monas, den yparhei syngenneis monos, i monadikos, o syngenneis den einai 'syn-trofos' / 'syn-trofimos' ('two or three things... [from within this pain]'-Sunday, February 01, 2004)
Je en mporw na milw gia touto to Unreality tis idias tis glwssas (en-telei) pou mporei na eks(w)igithei mono mesa pou ton idio tis ton eauto, je na men kataliksw/pale na milisw gia tin Monaksia. Tin monaksia MAS (na, idi, to prwto negation/pure indexical), gia tin monaksia pou (san leksi-sin-grafomeni) iparxei molis tin grapseis ara eksafanizete opws to Unreal pou ti stigmi pou to grapseis/peis/skefteis en pio alithino pou to unreal. Alla egw en tha milisw gia toutin tin monaksia alla gia tin allin, ne tin allin, tin perpetual, yet yes In Perpetuum.
Grafei o Kaknavatos:
'Ypersintelikos st' apsenti lofio tou
feggarovotanou pali monos
in perpetuum
aniforizw dixws sou ton pagetwna
pou eisai?
sou 'lega pws to mesonixti einai apo sin-
nefo gia touto kathete sta matia gia
touto pia lousmeno ston idrwta tou san
pou' kane to xreos tou pou esfakse
isixazei twra to maxairi
pou eisai?
w pws fisaei anamesa stis lekseis afise
panw tous t'auga tou o anemos to xwma
ksexwse to soi tou den perniete o kala-
miwnas tosoi iskioi
Tha rthei me fidia i galini
pou eisai?
Ti erimia
oute taksi
oute to fantasma mou
pou eisai?'
Unreal, ne, na milas monos sou, na rwtas monos sou, na grafeis ke na xamogelas/kathe sou kafes ke fotografia/ kathe dromaki tis polis sou nane omoikatalikto!
Socrates to Theaetetus: 'And if someone thinks mustn't he think something?'
Th.: 'Yes, je must.'
Soc.: 'And if he thinks something, mustn't it be something real?'
Th.: 'Apparently.'
(Theaetetus 189a; Part I, p.518)
Na min eine i monaksia san Kalokairi (unreal mes tin omixli tou fevrari)/ta kalokairia pou tha 'rthoun
To kalokairi mas krataei ksipnious
ap to roxalisma twn fullwn
tou xeimwna twn noimatwn i tin animpori
mpora - gimni ke ipogeia, aneksantliti
diarrikti ke athampwti i fwni
sou:
'tha me dw na se perimenw'
na min eine tis vroxis to mourmourito
to fagwma tis sarkas; oxi
i diaolotrofi twn essw mas oneirwn,
ta terata pou kouvalisame stis rages mas na
min einai ki auta
i monaksia. e?
Grafei o Gkatsos:
'Mia panagia mian agapi mou exw kleisei
s'erimoklisi alargino
kathe vradia tis kardias ti porta anoigw
koitazw ligo ke proskinw
Pote tha'rthei to kalokairi
pote t'asteri th'anastithei
na sou foresw sta malia xriso stefani
san pirofani st'akrogialia'
Touta oulla/poses lekseis/poses wres/posa tsigara spatalisa panw sou, monaksia na se dw, na se anteksw pou monos mou/ monaksia Unreal. Je den eine to 'perpetual solitude' (oso arrwsto je an akouete) mia aisia, omorfi eksodos? Na mporesoume na xwrisoume tin monaksia? na tin poume aisiodoksi? Oxi - en nomizw. Na tin valoume se xrono? I monaksia en jeu/epi skinis, (t)here eis to ombion.
Grafei O Levenson je grafei i Alexandra:
“The Waste Land expands its historical view and just when it seems to have established a coherent temporal standpoint it expands again… The widening perspectives cannot be regarded as concentric circles which enclose and confirm one another…To the facile opinion that The Waste Land opposes the present to the past, one must immediately rejoin, which past?”
Akrivws!
Na min eine i monaksia a coherent In perpetuum circle? Na min eine Unreal City? (there is more besides London): grafei o Nick Cave:
There is a town
Where I was born
Far far away
Across the sea
And in that town
Where I was born
I would dream
That one day
I would leave
And cross the sea
And so it goes
And so it seems
That God lives only in our dreams
In our dreams
And now I live
In this town
I walk these dark streets
Up and down, up and down
Under a dark sky
And I dream
That one day
I'll go back home
(Nocturama, 'There is a town')
*men masheste, enna ginei re-edited - akoma en eipa tipote.
Monday, February 02, 2004
Warning: NeuPaternalism
ahristi pliroforia / pros ton kwsti
NeuRomancers grow up, kai 'aug'atizwntas epanametatrepoun touton to here se o-here/o(h!): 'non-places', imishimou.Se (pros, diladi, ara ohi poly makria apo to 'san', to 'opws', orous pou nomothetoun gia to 'montelo', to 'idaniko', to epistemo/logiko) ethnographiko evrima.Tsahpinia, diladi tou sainiou douleia, tou shahini: vintzi / hawk / hook. Opios jai na ftaei, o gerakas tha piasei <1+n, merokamato. Ohi re pousti mou, ohi 'upgrade' (see link above), to gio (m)(s)(b)ou!; ma re-fresh kathe fora (a-tono to ousiastiko/mellopoiiste to, kwsti, opws thelete).
"How could ontology get hold of a fart?", rwta ji o Derrida, (kapou mes' toGlas)
NeuRomancers grow up, kai 'aug'atizwntas epanametatrepoun touton to here se o-here/o(h!): 'non-places', imishimou.Se (pros, diladi, ara ohi poly makria apo to 'san', to 'opws', orous pou nomothetoun gia to 'montelo', to 'idaniko', to epistemo/logiko) ethnographiko evrima.Tsahpinia, diladi tou sainiou douleia, tou shahini: vintzi / hawk / hook. Opios jai na ftaei, o gerakas tha piasei <1+n, merokamato. Ohi re pousti mou, ohi 'upgrade' (see link above), to gio (m)(s)(b)ou!; ma re-fresh kathe fora (a-tono to ousiastiko/mellopoiiste to, kwsti, opws thelete).
"How could ontology get hold of a fart?", rwta ji o Derrida, (kapou mes' toGlas)
Sunday, February 01, 2004
two or three things... [from within this pain]
"yparhw akatastallahtos
miswntas, ti nyhta, to hazoharoumeno nero."
"ti to 'thela ekeino to egertirio, ewthino koniak;"**
kai tha milouse, dioti den leei na (to) epi-sterpsoume ws/sto psychografima, ohi ws tritos enikos, ki oute ws proto prosopo, ma tha milouse mesa apo to mono esy pou ixere, to esy ton defterwn prosopwn pou einai panta ekeinoi, ohi oi alloi, ma esy, esy, esy, oloi toutoi oi gyrw tou, ta stigmata, ta traces tou, (e) aftou, pou ite katoikousan stis nees ekklisies, tous topous tou kallous tis neoterikotitas ["Bookshops function as churches once did: they encourage amours, love at first sight, secret meetings. Affinities call out to each other, correspondances are forged, a mystical understanding springs up between two beings who, a few minutes earlier, knew nothing of one another." - From To she who is absent, Linda Le, "Time Out Book of Paris Walks" (christo), bold emphasis added], i pou ton perikiklonoun, pianoun posta stis gwnies, san rwssika eikonostasia, hartines eikones - selidodiktes, horis i seira na einai vathmo-logiki.
Me afta the milouse (p-0-ia?) afou (pia) dokimase na epi-strepsei ma o ponos itan aforitos, dokimase na xana-p(i)ei, na xana-milisei (me tous filous tou, dioti itan filioi tou, kai itan nai, sta alitheia 'syngenneis', ohi omws kai 'o monos [mas] syngenneis' - to epanalamvanei: den yparhei syngenneia kata monas, den yparhei syngenneis monos, i monadikos, o syngenneis den einai 'syn-trofos' / 'syn-trofimos', ma den einai tis wras touta twra, nai dokimase, he tried, he tasted (it/Id) ma o ponos, oh! o ponos itan aforitos gia na synehisei (panta entos tou). Sykwti, stomahi, diafragma, plevra kai elkos: a cacophony of a mass. Etsi, mila me ta deftera proswpa, sampling, if it is more to your liking, more to your taste, sampling deftera proswpa:
[...it is the text’s very uselessness that is useful, as a potlatch.
Roland Barthes]
"But the faces of the living, all grimace and flush, can they be described as objects?" Samuel Beckett, First Love
"For an instant I see the sky, the differnt skies, then they turn faces, agonies, loves, happiness too, yes, there was that too, unhappily. Moments of life, of mine too, among others, no denying, all said and done. Happiness, what happiness, but what deaths, what loves, I knew at the time, it was too late then. Ah to love at your last and see them at theirs, the last minute loved ones, and be happy, why ah, uncalled for. No but now, now, simply stay still, standing before a window, one hand on the wall, the other clutching your shirt, and see the sky, a long gaze, but no, gasps and spasms, a childhood sea, other skies, another body." Samuell Beckett (again!), Old Earth
"Ever tried? Ever failed? No matter. Try again. Fail again. Fail better." Samuel Beckett (yet again!!)
"The future can only be anticipated in the form of an absolute danger. It is that which breaks absolutely with constituted normality and can only be proclaimed, presented, as a sort of monstrosity. For that future world and that within it which will have put into question the values of the sign, word, and writing, for that which guides our future anterior ['twn tetelesmeno melonta mas', metafrazei o Papagiwrgis], there is yet no exergue." Jacques Derrida, Of Grammatology
"Ypathei enas tropos na aporeis enw empistevesai. Ki auto ton tropo ton psilafoume mono ston erwta. O erwtas simainei pisti, empistosyni, autoparadosi...Ta simainomena leitourgoun horis simainonta. Einai moni i glwssa tis anaforas, i glwssa tou pothou...Afti pou milane stis siwpi tis 'mias sarkas'." Christos Giannaras, Sholio sto Asma Asmatwn
(>sto poiima, to poiima, ponima!)
"His footsteps took him to the sailor's tavern he knew, a bad spot. He ordered a whisky and sat down in a corner. Here was no one: no lunatics to jeer at him, no sane people to encourage or exhort him, not even a piano this time, only the world of ghosts coming closer, but in order not to come too close, always another drink; he was having a hell of a good time...It was dark, the darkness was full of vibrations.. Returning to the saloon he picked out a secluded place to sit, where they brought his whisky.
But feeling he was being watched, even there, he moved later, drink in hand, to the very obscurest corner of the bar, where, curled up like an embryo, he could not be seen at all." Malcom Lowry, Lunar Caustic
"Sigbjorn finished his fifth unregenerated grappa and suddenly gave a loud laugh, a laugh which, as if it had realised itself it should become something more respectable, turned immediately into a prolonged - though on the whole relatively pleasurable- fit of coughing..." Malcom Lowry, Strange Comfort Afforded by the Profesion
" (sto niko d. karouzo)
to alkool sou didaskei ti diarkeia,
eipe o poiitis,
geros omiros tis tyhis kai geros vrahos ieros
aihmalwtos tou ouisky
fygas theothen kai alitis
(...)
oloi tha pethanoume kapote,
alla to alkool kanei wraia kolpa me to hrono,
eipe o poiitis
(...)"
"einai kai i oulitida, to asthma, i monika, oi amorroides.
einai kai i exypnada pou pige peripato
stin allilografia
einai kai to talento pou skotwthike stous asteriskous,
toswn hazwn kai toswn mataiwn yposimeiwsewn.
ante na vreis kouragio twra gia kolpa hontra,
gia astraftera hamogela kai dimosies emfaniseis.
na tin vgaloume kathari to heimona,
na tin skapoularoume kat'arhin,
ki afinoume gi' arotera, mwro mou,
yperatlantika poker kai ypogeia kazina." Ikaros-G. Mpampasakis (sic), apo ta 'Eikosi Alkoolika Diapisteftiria', hosmena mesa sta' Skoteina Topia', Ekdoseis Eratw, 1985 (ap' opou kai ta **)
me to teleftaio fws tou apogevmatos paw na dw stylografous/
miswntas, ti nyhta, to hazoharoumeno nero."
"ti to 'thela ekeino to egertirio, ewthino koniak;"**
kai tha milouse, dioti den leei na (to) epi-sterpsoume ws/sto psychografima, ohi ws tritos enikos, ki oute ws proto prosopo, ma tha milouse mesa apo to mono esy pou ixere, to esy ton defterwn prosopwn pou einai panta ekeinoi, ohi oi alloi, ma esy, esy, esy, oloi toutoi oi gyrw tou, ta stigmata, ta traces tou, (e) aftou, pou ite katoikousan stis nees ekklisies, tous topous tou kallous tis neoterikotitas ["Bookshops function as churches once did: they encourage amours, love at first sight, secret meetings. Affinities call out to each other, correspondances are forged, a mystical understanding springs up between two beings who, a few minutes earlier, knew nothing of one another." - From To she who is absent, Linda Le, "Time Out Book of Paris Walks" (christo), bold emphasis added], i pou ton perikiklonoun, pianoun posta stis gwnies, san rwssika eikonostasia, hartines eikones - selidodiktes, horis i seira na einai vathmo-logiki.
Me afta the milouse (p-0-ia?) afou (pia) dokimase na epi-strepsei ma o ponos itan aforitos, dokimase na xana-p(i)ei, na xana-milisei (me tous filous tou, dioti itan filioi tou, kai itan nai, sta alitheia 'syngenneis', ohi omws kai 'o monos [mas] syngenneis' - to epanalamvanei: den yparhei syngenneia kata monas, den yparhei syngenneis monos, i monadikos, o syngenneis den einai 'syn-trofos' / 'syn-trofimos', ma den einai tis wras touta twra, nai dokimase, he tried, he tasted (it/Id) ma o ponos, oh! o ponos itan aforitos gia na synehisei (panta entos tou). Sykwti, stomahi, diafragma, plevra kai elkos: a cacophony of a mass. Etsi, mila me ta deftera proswpa, sampling, if it is more to your liking, more to your taste, sampling deftera proswpa:
[...it is the text’s very uselessness that is useful, as a potlatch.
Roland Barthes]
"But the faces of the living, all grimace and flush, can they be described as objects?" Samuel Beckett, First Love
"For an instant I see the sky, the differnt skies, then they turn faces, agonies, loves, happiness too, yes, there was that too, unhappily. Moments of life, of mine too, among others, no denying, all said and done. Happiness, what happiness, but what deaths, what loves, I knew at the time, it was too late then. Ah to love at your last and see them at theirs, the last minute loved ones, and be happy, why ah, uncalled for. No but now, now, simply stay still, standing before a window, one hand on the wall, the other clutching your shirt, and see the sky, a long gaze, but no, gasps and spasms, a childhood sea, other skies, another body." Samuell Beckett (again!), Old Earth
"Ever tried? Ever failed? No matter. Try again. Fail again. Fail better." Samuel Beckett (yet again!!)
"The future can only be anticipated in the form of an absolute danger. It is that which breaks absolutely with constituted normality and can only be proclaimed, presented, as a sort of monstrosity. For that future world and that within it which will have put into question the values of the sign, word, and writing, for that which guides our future anterior ['twn tetelesmeno melonta mas', metafrazei o Papagiwrgis], there is yet no exergue." Jacques Derrida, Of Grammatology
"Ypathei enas tropos na aporeis enw empistevesai. Ki auto ton tropo ton psilafoume mono ston erwta. O erwtas simainei pisti, empistosyni, autoparadosi...Ta simainomena leitourgoun horis simainonta. Einai moni i glwssa tis anaforas, i glwssa tou pothou...Afti pou milane stis siwpi tis 'mias sarkas'." Christos Giannaras, Sholio sto Asma Asmatwn
(>sto poiima, to poiima, ponima!)
"His footsteps took him to the sailor's tavern he knew, a bad spot. He ordered a whisky and sat down in a corner. Here was no one: no lunatics to jeer at him, no sane people to encourage or exhort him, not even a piano this time, only the world of ghosts coming closer, but in order not to come too close, always another drink; he was having a hell of a good time...It was dark, the darkness was full of vibrations.. Returning to the saloon he picked out a secluded place to sit, where they brought his whisky.
But feeling he was being watched, even there, he moved later, drink in hand, to the very obscurest corner of the bar, where, curled up like an embryo, he could not be seen at all." Malcom Lowry, Lunar Caustic
"Sigbjorn finished his fifth unregenerated grappa and suddenly gave a loud laugh, a laugh which, as if it had realised itself it should become something more respectable, turned immediately into a prolonged - though on the whole relatively pleasurable- fit of coughing..." Malcom Lowry, Strange Comfort Afforded by the Profesion
" (sto niko d. karouzo)
to alkool sou didaskei ti diarkeia,
eipe o poiitis,
geros omiros tis tyhis kai geros vrahos ieros
aihmalwtos tou ouisky
fygas theothen kai alitis
(...)
oloi tha pethanoume kapote,
alla to alkool kanei wraia kolpa me to hrono,
eipe o poiitis
(...)"
"einai kai i oulitida, to asthma, i monika, oi amorroides.
einai kai i exypnada pou pige peripato
stin allilografia
einai kai to talento pou skotwthike stous asteriskous,
toswn hazwn kai toswn mataiwn yposimeiwsewn.
ante na vreis kouragio twra gia kolpa hontra,
gia astraftera hamogela kai dimosies emfaniseis.
na tin vgaloume kathari to heimona,
na tin skapoularoume kat'arhin,
ki afinoume gi' arotera, mwro mou,
yperatlantika poker kai ypogeia kazina." Ikaros-G. Mpampasakis (sic), apo ta 'Eikosi Alkoolika Diapisteftiria', hosmena mesa sta' Skoteina Topia', Ekdoseis Eratw, 1985 (ap' opou kai ta **)
me to teleftaio fws tou apogevmatos paw na dw stylografous/
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