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