ombion

Mikri arthografia [or the devil finds work for idle hands], me to 1 me to 2 me to 3

'7. εγενετο δε Ηρ πρωτοτοκος Ιουδα πονηρος εναντι Κυριου, και απεκτεινεν αυτον ο Θεος. 8. ειπε δε Ιουδας τω Αυναν· εισελθε προς την γυναικα του αδελφου σου και επιγαμβρευσαι αυτην και αναστησον σπερμα τω αδελφο σου. 9. γνους δε Αυναν οτι ουκ αυτω εσται τω σπερμα, εγινετο οταν εισηρχετο προς την γυναικα του αδελφου αυτου, εξεχεεν επι την γην του μη δουναι σπερμα τω αδελφω αυτου. 10. πονηρον δε εφανη εναντιον του Θεου, οτι εποιησε τουτο, και εθανατωσε και τουτον. ' - Γένεσις, κεφάλαιο 38

vybbtuan - hymn to dance to
(fragment of a remix)

background noise gia kapia sinantisi tou makariti tou makariou me ton makaritin ton mao - mison ekatomirion? se pian polikatikia zite?
anaptissete sxedio metatropis tis kiprou se polikatikia politelias
kai fisika, gia na min pikranthei o kafes mas, as anatheorithei i mousiki auti protasi, ws endiaferousa ipokrousi gia anelkistires
001_imnos.wav

OXI STO SXEDIO ANAN, SAS PARAKALW! ANATHEORISTE! ENAN DI-ETHNIKON IMNON TIS PROKOPIS, TWRA POU ESHETE EU-KAIRIA

Ηταν ετοιμος να μπει στην πιο ιθαγενη
μετασυναρτηση οταν -συμπτωση- στη λεωφορο
ξεσαλωναν σειρηνες με τον Φλεβαρη θυμα
απο τροχαιο Κι ενω τον μαζευαν απο την
ασφαλτο λευκοφοροι ανεμοι Αυτος στην εδρα
-παλι συμπτωση- με πεντε φοιτητες επι
πτυχιω ανελυε περις οχρας γεωδαισιας
στο Προχριστιανικο Μηδεν.
Παραπεμποντας σε νοθο Προκλο αναφεροτανε
σε πολυεστιακη οδαλισκη απο το Μεταποντιον
η απο κατι αλλο ισοσθενες, που δηθεν προεκτατικως,
και με τον ταφο της επωμου - κατα πως σερνουν
καταστολιστο δαμαλι σε χασαπη και ξερετε για
πιοι δαμαλι λεω αφου, ποτε αμηχανος αναβετε
κερι στην πασα λαμπουσα - διασχιζει χιαστι
την ανασκελωμενη Οστια δαμαζωντας τα στιφη
των οστων της. Οτι ταχα τοτε ειναι που με
ανασπασμενα βραγχια - εσχατη συμπτωση-
παιρνουν να βοουν ο πιο Ελατος απο τα λευκοπυρηνα
ο πιο Κονιχορ απο τους μαλαχιτες ο πιο που τονε πανε μονοπατια
καταμεσης απαρεμφατων ο πιο Πηγαινοντας...ο πιο Πεφτοντας...

Εκτωρ Κακναβατος, 'ΚΑΤΑΜΕΣΗΣ ΑΠΑΡΕΜΦΑΤΩΝ η Για μια σφυζουσα Μεταφυσικη'

jester / gianni / nandia / etc - can someone play this score (the 'future' anthem of the United States of Cyprus, as it appears in the 4th Anan plan)? If yes, please send / upolad as real player file.

pam-pamapam-pam-pam-paapam-pampampampampa-pa-pa

Drinking with Humphrey Bogart staring from the wall
(New Cross, I know is not Cassablanca but Of all the gin joints in all the towns in all the world, she walks into mine.


Strasser: Do you mind if I ask you a few questions? Unofficially, of course.
Rick: Make it official, if you like.
Strasser: What is your nationality?
Rick: I'm a drunkard.
Louis: That makes Rick a citizen of the world.



Ilsa: Is that cannon fire, or is it my heart pounding?



If you'll excuse me, gentlemen. Your business is politics, mine is running a saloon....Here's looking at you, kid.

[Mostly I remember the last one. A wild finish. A guy standing on a station platform in the rain with a comical look on his face because his insides had been kicked out.

It's still a story without an ending]

I turn to thee, oh! friends, and friends of friends, and friends of friends of friends, and friends of friends of friends, and friends of friends of freinds of friends...


Σεμνή Πρόταση για την Διοργάνωση Xωρο-εσπερίδας [reception] Προς Tιμή του Plurable Earwicker, here, M’ Aφορμή Πιθανότητα International Show και Στα Πάτρια Oσονούπω.


K.K. κ.ο.κ.* ,

Dimb! Στα οπισθιόφυλλα, χαμηλά, των υψηλόφθαλμων λογο-κριτικών περιοειδικών, οπου συνήθως ο Seamus χύνει για τον Σεφέρη, είδε το ονοματούιν της. νCOΣIA. A! H Xώρα στα υπόψην για μια εκθείαση του θείου και παππού κυρίου κυρίου J. A. A. J., με τιτλο International-
"Διεθνής Tζοϋς" , ξανά! και ήδη έτρεχαν απ’τα ποϊνάρκα των Δουβλινέζων, των Tριεστάνων, μα και όλων των άλλων κατ’οίκον στα γραψίμια του – ω! Τι χαρά, τι χαρά που μας τραγουδά!- Λίραι! 100 Xρόνια απο την μέρα που ξεκίνησε με γάλα, μέλι, τηγανιτά νεφρά, συνέχισε με σάντουιτς γοργκονζόλα και κρασάκι – η όρεξη για ένα μπλουμ! στο βαζάκι με τσ’ ελίαι ανικανοποίητη, μα ας ειν’ καλά η Nαυσικάα O! MακNτάουελ (τον στράγγιξε τον Mυρωδάτο!)- και κλείνει με ένα "Yes" και δύο αυγά, εξίσου αρωματικά και ηλιόλουστα, χωρις να ξεχνάμε τις δωρεάν αναφορές –Pεκόρ!- για το προϊόν με τα μεγαλύτερα κέρδη κάθε 16 Iουνίου . Έτσι μ’ αφορμή την επέτειο φιγουράρει τούτες τις ώρες και η Λευκωσία ως πιθανός εκθεσιακός χώρος για την προαναφερθέν έκθεση, που συνδιοργανώνει το YΠEΞ Iρλανδίας. Eξ όσον γνωρίζω όχι μόνο Bloomsaday δεν γιορτάζεται στην Kύπρο (εκτός μεμονωμένα και ιδιωτικά – μικρό το κακό!) μα και η ‘πρόσληψη’ [ρεσεψίον!] του James Joyce είναι εξίσου ιδωτική ακουτάσταση. Tις μέρες του Iούνη η "Διεθνής Tζοϋς" θα προσλαμβάνεται σε 7 πόλεις ταυτοχρόνος μίνιμουμ. Eάν έρθει και στη Kύπρο μάλλον θα έρθει μετά το νέο Eυρωπαικό Kοινοβούλιο – αρα: Πατέρες και Tεχνικοί, Παλαιοί και Oλιγότερον, Kηπουροί και Γεωργοί εκ Kυπρίας νCOΣIA(ς) [+] ορμώμενοι, ίσως υπάρχει χωροχρόνος, μεγέθους: αρκετού, για ένα reception του Joyce , π.χ. με την μορφή ημερίδας, συμποσίου, μπορεί και ενός Σαββατοκύριακου , η έστω μιας νύχτας εν φωναίς και οργάνοις, με λαούτα και απορημογράμματα "under the libans and the sickamours, the cyprissis and the babilonias" (FW, 460: 22-23). Θέματα: πάμπολλα – τα τελευταία χρόνια η Tζοϋσιάνια έχει υπερδιαπλασιστεί και σε πληθυσμό και σε κατά κεφαλήν εισόδημα (άρα και σε κατά κεφαλήν φορο-λογία) με μετά-πολιτες και πολήτριες της να κατοικούν και στην Kύπρο. Kαι η συγγένια Tζοϋς- Iρλανδίας-Eξορίας- Nύχτας-Πολιτικής-Θρησκείας- Λογοτεχνίας-Γλώσσας-Διαλέχτου …, με της παρα thin άλλος νήσου τις συνιστώσες (‘Έλληνο’-‘Tουρκικές’) ήδη συνυφασμένη πριν απο οποιουδήποτε μπάσσου σφυρίγματος του Tάσσου στα O’χαρούμενα αυτία του Mπέρντι.

Swift Πρόταση, με τον τρόπο του J.J. για να μην κολλήσει η ποσθη, τώρα π’ ανθίζουν τα βουνά με πυροτεχνήματα και κόκκινο χορτάρι, (υπάρχει και πέραν του Kοινοτικού Πακέτου – "απ’ το Ύπεροχο στο Γελίο") και να τινάξουμεν την ανθισμένη βαλανιδία – έσστω. Nα μυραστούμε τα παστόσυκα του καλλιτέχνη και να ψυθιρίσουμε, τώρα που η Mητέρα πακετάρει τα από δεύτερο χέρι ρούχα μας, προσευχόμενη, "Kαλωσόρισες Ω ζωή! Πηγαίνω για την εκατομυριοστή φορά να συναντήσω την πραγματικότητα της εμπειρίας και να σφυρηλατίσω στο αργαστήρι της ψυχής μου την άπλαστη συνείδηση της ράτσας μου." (A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man – Mτφ. δκη μου). Mια ζωή παλιόκοτες και μυρικαστικά που παραφράζουμε την γραμμή 18, σελ. 214, απο το Finnegans Wake, αντικαθιστώντας το ουσιαστικό "Ireland" με "Cyprus" (Ireland sober is Ireland stiff) ψάχνωντας με το κλεφτοφάναρο τις νηφάλιες νεφέλες εις αλλειες γαίες.


So?
Who do you no tonigh, lazy and gentleman?

Alaluvial,Alaluvial…Aman.

Well, it might now mircle, so it light.

(James Joyce, Finnegans Wake, 1939)




Δημήτρης Tαλιώτης
demetris_taliotis@yahoo.com




* "E, συμλπωρίτες…" (N. Kαζαντζάκης, Oδύσσεια, στίχος 70)

Pros tous apantahou poukamisakides, apospasmata tharous:

"...Zoume tha pei alitevoume stous ametritous imerous
alitevoume sta swmata twn aperantwn gynaikwn
alitevoume sti milia mas
alitevoume stin peina kai stin akalesti dipsa."

"Osmizomai kataigida sto epakro
ma i gkardia mou apousiazei st' agrioloulouda."

"Mono autoi pou trefoun oneira apolamvanoun
tin pragmatikotita."

Nikos Karouzos

"The heart is sore and sad. Crossed in love?"

"I play lightly, softly singing, John Dowland's languid song. Loth to depart: I too am loth to go. That age is here and now. Here, opening from the darkness of desire, are eyes that dim the breaking East, their shimmer the shimmer of scum that mantles the cesspool of the court of slobbering James. Here are wines all ambered, dying fallings of sweet airs, the proud pavan, kind gentlewomen wooing from the balconies with sucking mouths, the pox-fouled wenches and young wives that gaily yielding to the ravishers, clip and clip again."

"She speaks. A weak voice from beyond the cold stars. Voice of wisdom. Say on! O, say again, making me wise! This voice I never heard.
She coils towards me along the crumpled lounge. I cannot move or speak. Coiling approach of starborn flesh. Adultery of wisdom. No. I will go. I will.
-Jim, love!-
Soft sucking lips kiss my left armpit: a coiling kiss on myriad veins. I burn! I crumble like a burning leaf! From my right armpit a fang of flame leaps out. A starry snake has kissed me: a cold nightsnake. I am lost!"

James Joyce, Giacomo Joyce


Simera pou to heili mou xanamatwnei, kapnismenos, Kyrie, fexe mou na peri-patw kai na 'fougrazoume, kai mi eisengeis eme eis allin psyhrou i eirwnikou logou antikatavoli sta ek vathewn mou flogodes methysologa - you know how: en symposiou oinou mi elegxeis ton plision kai mi exoudenwsis auton en efrosyni autou, logon oneidismou mi eipis autw, kai auton thlipseis en apaitisei Sofia Seirah (or Ecclesiasticus) 31: 31, k.o.k.-, pou na parei o thkaiolos jai na sikwsi gamw to satana mou! Amen/Aman.

Dem. -
e
tris

(...)
The English are made to exist.
There's no other people endowed with
Such tranquility. You throw them a penny
And one of them turns out a smile.

I belong to a type of Portugese
Who since discovering India
Has been unemployed.
(...)


Fernando Pessoa

'Jesus' blood never failed me yet'* (cried the tramp), even in large clinical spaces in which they ever so quietly operate within the burden carried throughout this and I would like to point your eyes towards
fevgontas? i epistrefontas?
stis toualettes tou aerodromiou larnakas
opws pais mesa, teleftea porta sta aristera sou
and here we go again [remembering the most insignificant detail]

*(Gavin Bryars, s/t)

Since I can not be
a good drinker
a good smoker
a good eater
a good writer
a good lover
a healthy good
good
one of you must die
or
psychoanalytically speaking
'play second fiddle to the rest'
or to the 'a'.
Yet who -
"For there is a great distance between the words we speak uninhibitedly to a friendly audience and the discipline needed to write a book." (Gaston Bachelard)
Let's make it
quick: One potato Two potato Three potato Four, Five potato Six potato Seven potato
Phall if you but will, rise you must: and none so soon either shall the pharce for the nunce come to a setdown secular phoenish. (James Joyce)


(soundtrack: 'Polonaise' by Chopin)

είπα: φύσηξέ μου στα μούτρα όπως φυσάς στα έντομα και ξαναζωντανεύουν (...)
είπα: είμαι καταδικασμένος στο ανέφικτο της τέλειας επανάληψής μου
Τί γίνεται όταν και αυτή η τελευταία περι-γραφή με δεσμεύει στην ανά-μνηση?

-και ένα πρωί ξυπνάς και το notebook σου έχει πεθάνει-

Όπως ο μίμος των φωνών-Bernhard-, χάνω την ικανότητα μίμισης της φωνής μου

είπα: φύσηξέ μου στα μούτρα όπως φυσάς στα έντομα και ξαναζωντανεύουν (...)
είπα: είμαι καταδικασμένος στο ανέφικτο της τέλειας επανάληψής μου
Τί γίνεται όταν και αυτή η τελευταία περι-γραφή με δεσμεύει στην ανά-μνηση?

-και ένα πρωί ξυπνάς και το notebook σου έχει πεθάνει-

Όπως ο μίμος των φωνών-Bernhard-, χάνω την ικανότητα μίμισης της φωνής μου

"...the eternal power of the woman, the only power I have ever submitted to." Andre Breton, L' Amour Fou, 1937

AIXMEΣ

Δι' ευχών των Aγίων

Στον γνωστό κανόνα: «Όταν ένας πολιτισμός διαισθάνεται ότι πλησιάζει το τέλος του, φωνάζει τον παπά», ο Καραμανλής κάνει την εξαίρεση: τον φωνάζει στην αρχή του.

ΓΙΩΡΓΟΣ ΒΕΛΤΣΟΣ
ΤΑ ΝΕΑ , 24-03-2004  , Σελ.: N09


[nomizw oti molis twra prepei na teliwnei to lecture tou Veltsou stin Panteion - e gianni?

Gia tous endiaferomenous as parathesw edw ena sholio apo to 1981, apo ton K. Karamanli -really who?- while still in office: "The nation and Orthodoxy…have become in the Greek conscience virtually synonymous concepts, which together constitute our Helleno-Christian civilization."
Den nomizee pws irthe i stigmi -especially all of you 'action' people- gia na epanaihnilatisoume to dedomeno (des: given) 'Cyprus', pou ehoume dektei ws enarxi kai epitagi twn praxewn mas - enw systimatika den paveia apo to na einai mia en exelixei ana-dia-typwsi enos 'titlou idioktisias', enos 'kotsianou', me idioktiti kai pwliti na ehoun ex arhis diaktynisetei sto yperperan, ohi hwris tin aparaititi 'ypo-grafi'- prihou dektoume, zitisoume, 'fwnaxoume' ton papa/daddy/father of the logos. Do Not Forget: the embodiment of the situation that looms threataning the already unstable Greek State, has already been presented to Cyprus from 1951, from 1959, from 1963, from 1971, from 1977, embodied within a singular body, whose only infiltration, whose only supplementarity can be found in that red and white packet of 'Craven-A' cigarettes. Oui, Makarios. Etsi, following from the Beltsisto remark: has then 'Cyprus' been already that exception to the rule by already having been disapeared as a state, a culture, a geopolitical ensemble, before the words were found to describe it? After all we have called the papas not at the arche, but when yet still, in a pre-gestural level. With the demarkation of an X - which marks the spot- in the 1951 referendum, at least.....] 

ARCHITECTURE IS NOT IMPORTANT - LIFE IS WHAT'S IMPORTANT
Oscar Niemeyer (BBC Radio 3, 21/03/04 22:11)

etsi: o kyrios me/ta sou (jai ta millefeuil trwta, jai ta whiskeia pinw ta, jai ta psarka kataliwta - just light if you might)

c-he(e)re-s

I am a stalagmos

12C me ta boforia sta epourania kai ta matia melaniasmena -bllodshot- kai krya ta entera, i 'melana holi' t' Atistoteli [mikra fysika], adeies boukales kai gemates boukales kai adeies boukales. public to psema kai i alitheia "enas topos opou mporeis na kryfteis" (what the fuck!) psygeia pou trizoun, ypologistes pou den len na skasoun, na xypnas me Rhapsody in Blue kai na koimase me Closing Time, i pio prin me tis Partitas ("Is that Glenn Gould?" "How do you know?" "I heard his 'Mmmmmm'."), The Big White Book Of Poems kai o Woody Allen se tilefoniko thalamo stin Nea Yorki, oi lexeis sou esena pou grafeis kai oi lexeis sou esena pou milas, kai grafeis mono noumera, eno esy me to teleftaio fws tis imeras, niwtheis tin arrwskia, to sverko sou piasmeno, kai me tis mikres tis wres na anakinwnontai ek radiokymmatwn, na se perigrafei i frasi tou metakeimenikou 'imerou' (me 'iwta'), idou:

"Vevaiws, an iton alli kammia 'meraklidissa' i 'asikissa', anamesa eis tas neas tou thalasiinou xwriou, iton k' i Arhontoula,tin opoian o Giannakis, xlwmin, leptin, melahroinin, agapise ohi dia kallos proklitiko, all' apo mustiriwdi eljin kai aoriston psychikin synafeian."

Alexandros Papadiamantis, Ermi sta Xena

Earini isimeria - And I don't care if I am nervous with you / I 'll do my loving in the Winter(time).

'Jugband Blues

It's awfully considerate of you to think of me here
And I'm much obliged to you for making it clear
That I'm not here.
And I never knew the moon could be so thick
And I never knew the moon could be so blue
And I'm grateful that you threw away my old shoes
And brought me here instead dressed in red
And I'm wondering who could be writing this song.

I don't care if the sun don't shine
And I don't care if nothing is mine
And I don't care if I'm nervous with you
I'll do my loving in the winter.

And the sea isn't green
And I love the queen
And what exactly is a dream
And what exactly is a joke.' - Syd Barrett (?)

/the Voice
(of a madness)
[has made all that dreaming appear as a sort of silence]

"Unbeknowst to you would ire turn o'er see, a nuncio would I return here. How (from the sublime to the ridiculous) times out of oft, my future, shall we think deepest of love and recollection by thee but me far away on the pillow, breathing foundly o'er my names all through the empties, whilst moidhered by the rattle of the doppeldoorknockers. Our homerole poet to Oestelinda, Fred Wetherley, puts it somewhys better. You are sitting on me style, maybe, whereoft I helped your one. Littlegame rumile from Liffalidebankum, (Toobliqueme!) but a big corner fill you do in this unadulterated seat of our affections. Aerwenger's my breed so many we uncreepinglymultipede like the sands on Amberhann. Sevenheavens, O heaven! ly waount yiou! yore ways to melittleme were wonderful so Ickam purseproud in sending uym loveliest pansiful thoughts touching me dash in-you through wee dots Hyphen, the so pretty arched godkin of beddinnights. If I've proved to your sallysfashion how I'm a man of the Armor let me so, let me sue,let me see your isabellis. How I should, should I survive, as, please the uniter of U.M.I. hearts, I am living in hopes to do, replacing mig wandering handsup in yawers so yeager for mitch, positevely cover the two pure chicks of your comely plumpchake with zuccherikissings, hong, kong, and so gong, that I'd scare the bats out of the ivfry one of those puggy mornings, honestly, by my rantandog and daddyoak I will, become come coming when,upon the mingling of our meeting waters, wish to wisher, like massive mountains to part no more, you will there and then, in those happy moments of ouryour soft accord, rainkiss on me back, for full marks with shouldered arms, and in that united I.R.U. stade, when I come (touf!touf!) wildflier's fox into my own greengeese again swap sweetened smugs, six of one for half a dozen of the other, till they'll bet we're the cuckoo derby cherries next come back to Ealing as come they must, as they musted in their past, as they must for my pressing season, as hereinafter must they chirrywill immediately suant on my safe returnto ignorance and bliss in my horseless Coppal Poor, through suirland and noreland kings country and queens, with my ropes of pearls for gamey girls the way ye'll hardly. Knowme."

James Joyce, FW, 445:26 - 446:26


"And what can I tell you my brother, my killer, what can I possibly say/... I'm glad you stood in my way." L. Cohen Famous Blue Raincoat


"...Paidi-pou tha me peis emena! Paixe an koitas
Kane mou to fyto-tyliga mou ton anemo
Emba ston ypno mias parhenas kai fere mou to rouho tis
Sa skylos mes sta dontia. I an ohi, tote
Gavgise, Gavgise pisw apo tin skia sou
Opw egw zwin olokliri mesa sta mesimeria.

(...)

Synazei synnefa kai tous krataei parea
Opws egw st' aspro harti kai sto molyvi
Tis nyhtes pou den ehoune roloi na doune

Ti paei na pei "den prepei", "den armozei".
Egw ehw dei parthenes ki ehw anoixei
To hnoudero tous ostrako na vrw to mesa meros
To meros tis katastrofis ka tou thanatou."

Odysseas Elytis, apo tin syllogi O Mikros Naftilos

avec 'agape', then, and tea, 'fare forward voyagers'

"-Blessed relief has come to me from just that minute-Everything has washed away- I'm perfectly normal again-(...)-I'm sitting smiling in the sun, the birds sing again, all's well again.
I stll can't understand it."

Jack Kerouac, Big Sur, p. 164


His hand is under
Her smooth round breast;
So he who has sorrow
Shall have rest.

From James Joyce, Chamber Music, XVIII


Ouden! Plin Pothou kai Pathous, Ouden!

I AM A MARKET STATE


cheers Boris!

"To say 'we' and mean 'I' is one of the most recondite insults."

"Very evil people cannot really be imagined dying."

"The whole is the false."

N.B. "The expression of history in things is no other than that of past torment (...) History does not merely touch on language, but takes place in it."

din, pomb_pomb, ta paranoma filia mou, ta 'hw kopsei sto 'hw pei / vgazw aima ap'tin kardia mou, kai sou vazw ypografi pomb_pomb katw ap'to poukamiso mou i kardia mou svinei / ki an to sfalma einai diko mou deixe kalosyni ding

Dimb! He stottered from the latter. Damb! he was dud. Dumb! Mastabatoom, mastabadtom, when a mon merries his lute is all long. For whole the world to see.
Shize? I should shee! (FW, 6:9-13)

'Twas he was the dacent gaylabouring youth. Sharpen his pillowscone, tap up his bier! E'erawhere in this whorl would ye hear sich a din again? (FW, 6:23-25)

Phall if you but will, rise you must: and none so soon either shall the phrace for the nunce come to a setdown secular phoenish. (FW, 4:15-17)

We must get rid of our superstitious valuation of texts and written poetry. Written poetry is worth reading once, and then should be destroyed. Let the dead poets make way for others. Then we might even come to see that it is our veneration for what has already been created, however beautiful and valid it may be, that petrifies us, deadens our responses, and prevents us from making contact with that underlying power, call it thought-energy, the life force, the determination of change, lunar menses, or anything you like. Beneath the poetry of the texts, there is the actual poetry, without form and without text...
...Once and for all, enough of this closed, egoitstic and personal art.

No More Masterpieces Antonin Artaud

[Poetry] should not simplify. Its projections and inventions should be a match for the complex reality which surrounds it and out of which it is generated... As long as the coordinates of the imagined thing correspond to those of the world that we live in and endure, poetry is fulfilling its counterweighting function. It becomes another truth to which we can have recourse, before which we can know ourselves in a more fully empowered way. In fact, to read poetry of this totally adequate kind is to experience something bracing and memorable, something capable of increasing in value over the whole course of a lifetime...
At such moments, the delight of having one's faculties simultaneously provoked and gratified is like gaining an upper hand over all that is contingent and (as Borges says) 'inconsequential'. There is a sensation both of arrival and of prospect, so that one does indeed seem to 'recover a past' and 'prefigure a future', and thereby to complete the circle of one's being. When this happens, we have a distinct sensation that (to borrow a phrase from George Seferis's notebooks) poetry is 'strong enough to help'; it is then that its redress grows palpable.

The Redress of Poetry Seamus Heaney

as always, Seamus gets more air time.

Dear Sir/Madam

I am writing on behalf of the members of
The Society of the Friends of the Ombion
concerning the notebooks for the Finnegan's
Wake, by James Joyce. As you would know,
March signifies (if I may use this term when
talking - partly - for Joyce) the end of winter
(those winter blues are gone now!), the
beginning of spring, our return (yet and almost)
back to New Division and/or Simis' and of course
the three-month aniversary of Ombion.
It has been kindly and non-subtly requested
that on the occasion of this much expected
anniversary Joyce's mentioned-above notebooks be
offered as a present to Demetris, the Ombion mastros -
for the past achievements and for the future anticipations.
That said, I would be grateful if you could assist
me with details of Joyce's notebooks as well as
a quotation with the price (postage as well).

My wishes from all my nails -
Looking forward (and not farewell),
Yours Supplementary,
The Society of the Friends of the Ombion.
(if you are looking for any signature please see
ending words of 'Signature, Event, Context' by Derrida, J.)

epeidi eimai siouros oti egyrefkete ti dwro na mou kamete gia ta triminia tou ombion, vriskomai stin efharisti thesi na sas anakoinosw pws den hreiazete na psahnete allo. idou, ta notebooks tou Joyce gia to Finnegans Wake, pou twra vriskonte sto Buffalo, U.S. of Armorica, tha itan oti prepei. steilte ena minimataki sto panepistimio tis Vouvalias na mathete times kai postage jai ean en polla akriva, telospantwn, na sas dokw jai gw xerw, 10 lires i kati, gia tin hara pou tha mou kanete.
Efharistw ek twn proterwn - jai ean ehete kati pou thelete na sas 'gorasoume min distasete na mas to peite.





[a! thelw jai mian BMW 'Isetta' lefki i kokini, opws jeini pou eida simera stin Rugby St. - ean den pouloun ta Buffalo Notebooks. (fysika jai to athasi paei tis, ma touti en i germaniki tou 1956, me 4 trohous, jai hwris sliding window i to rack pisw. hm! provlimatizoume twra... mwro mou!)]

arxizw xana, to idio anapnoo kataxwniasma, me f. scott fitzgerald, john keats ke samuel beckett. if I were, if I were, this weary life, amid shadows and poems - those a'level poems haunting, those never-read yet never forgotten poems/ ena terastio project pros apofigi ke lipisi. the poem, the poem, all is left, all that is left, all (that) is left alone.
je osoi mono me logia (already written) mporoun na miloun as katalavoun. touto to habit of expression.

what would I do what I did yesterday and the day before
peering out of my deadlight looking for another
wandering like me eddying far from all the living
in a convulsive space
among the voices voiceless
that throng my hiddenness
(Beckett, S. last lines of 'que ferais-je sans ce monde (what would I do without this world)')

Where are the songs of Spring? Ay, where are they?
Think not of them, thou hast thy music too,
While barred clouds bloom the soft-dying day,
And touch the stubble plains with rosy hue;
Then in a wailful choir the small gnats mourn
Among the river sallows, borne aloft
Or sinking as the light wind lives or dies;
And full-grown lambs loud bleat from hilly bourn;
Hedge-crickets sing; and now with treble soft
The red-breast whistles from a garden-croft;
And gathering swallows twitter in the skies.
(Keats, J. last lines of 'To Autumn')

'Tis a word that's quickly spoken,
Which being unrestrained, a heart is broken.
(Beaumont + Fletcher, The Spanish Curate)

But he said, I am not mad, most noble Festus said; but speak forth the words of truth and soberness.
(Bible, Acts, ch. XXVI, v. 25)

den eine to psema ma i alithia enas topos pou mporeis na krifteis - diafana krina

I would begin with the greek word, omphalos, meaning the navel, and hence the stone that marked the centre of the world, and repeat it, omphalos omphalos omphalos, until its blunt and falling music becomes the music of somebody pumping water at the pump outside our back door.
(Seamus Heaney beginning of 'Mossbawm')

He showed how poetic vocation entails the disciplining of a habit of expression until it becomes fundamental to the whole conduct of a life.
(Seamus Heaney, ending of 'Learning from Eliot')

"The flesh is ill, and I've read all the books"
Stephan Mallarme

Oh, ma-ne: "So softly this morning occurs. Yes. Carry me along, taddy, like you done through the toy fair...Whish! A gull. Gulls. Far Calls. Coming, far! End here. Us then. Lps. The keys to. Given! A way a lone a last a loved a long the


rivverrun, past Eve and Adam's, from swerve of shore to bend of bay, brings us by a commodius vicus of recirculation back to Howth Castle and Environs."

Joyce, FW, 628: 8-9, 13-16, 3: 1-3

a,
ah mi
al
on praman to
'ftin. [vale ftin, krostou, klostou, klotsou, patsou, pourtou, patta, pouttos, hymen, hyphen, 'hiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii', hce, HC Earwicker, vale ftin]

vallea calda, enan praman, leo
vade mecum
[afete ta paidia erthoun pros eme; Spatial denotation of the cyberspace, makes no difference to its function or its use to us. So as long as access is open from wherever, navigation, surfing, swimming, and jumping can go on, while all these queries float unspecified. Taliotis, Constatntinos, 2004]

un-/-vallerious vales stin dyname tou m,
e (in trans.)



*arnoume na to kamw hypertext.
afierwmeno ston kwsti, ton a'rfo mou: antistixti (contrapount: contra/pountos, contra-band-o and not merely a counterpunkt) sto preloudio tou peri e-modernity.
[Des oh, erevnitike reader,+ tin forma tou Antifoniou stin Byz. Hymnologia for One two moremens more.(FW, 628: 5-6) plus John Cage "Sonatas and Interludes for prepared piano" (1948): "Certain old and lovely things, [but] not without perversion" Barthes]


"We say. Trust us. Our game. (For fun!)" FW, 460: 14-15

smilin['] / 'efimerides'

['SEAMSTRESS
MISTRESS
DISTRESS
STRESS ']

conversing

not'in_else

'Who am I
where do I come from
I am Antonin Artaud
and I say it
as only I know how to
and you will see my real body
bursting into fragments
collected
under 10,000 notorious looks
as a new body
which you'll never be able to forget
for it's me
the Man
who will be judge
in the final reckoning
it's to me
that all the elements
of body and things
will come to be referred
it's the state of my
body will shape
the Last Judgement...' - Antonin Artaud, a little postscript to a poem on the Theatre of Cruelty

‘Coudre: 1. "I could ... stitch", and to do this I will have to pierce the skin of the figure with a needle or a pointed lead, to perforate it, to penetrate it, to riddle it with holes, but I can stitch 2. in order to close the wound, to stitch it up, to scar it, and I can do this even to the wound which I open up while stitching. I wiled the thread which repairs, reassembles the tissues, ties them together; i adjust the garment which, covering the surface of the body, moulds to it in its natural form, reveals the form in covering it.
…
Couturer, in fact, shares its ambivalence with coudre (to pierce but also to tie together the tissues, skin, canvas or flesh) but it still adds its own ... To be occupied with seaming means to cover incessantly with scars. For this is the sense of this verb which applies the stitching or sewing of a seam exclusively to the flesh. Having a seamed body means being able to show it covered with traces, scars from cuts and injuries.
…
Gratter: 1. "I could ... scratch" because I could irritate the surface, attack it by friction using an instrument attached to the edge of the hand, and this may be the fingernail. By scratching it I risk inflicting injuries, I cause the body on which I thereby lay hands to lose substance. I want to get my hands on it.’

Excerpts from Jacques Derrida, "Forcener le subjectile".

Romeo and Juliet envisaged as a bunch of fucking creeps

Gaze at stars. Werewolves and ghosts and books, paper bag travel into void, words twitching here and (t)here, all over the place, growing darker each day, bolts scattered, that machine (we have no time left for angels) that steamed its way, its topos (ouranios) where She had stolen the take take, take away cheese all American Apple pie made from [imported apples], guts splashing out and look at that that’s my hand, but my hand is here, no his hand is there (heard of this thing called some ancient name, when you lose a part of your body, you get a phantom/ghost part in its place that haunts you now and then before you get used to it) and She bites and bites and again, and when you get the other Other telling you its allright then you go for it, we’ll beat the bad guy later on, when we break Him into pieces – no no St. Augustine, the Archon had been unable to provide us with the straight, highway, always there, no turns or pages missing, yeah yeah we got him in the corner now let’s take him down, no no he’s managing an amazing recovery and then, She runs ashamed, tries to pick out a nice dress from the cupboard [obviously made of fig tree] and he puts on his clothes back, that was good sweet-heart, and look now big daddy is coming down from upstairs and he’s fucking mad, you know, She had made a little deal with his little angel there, what the fuck was he meant to do, say it’s allright, have another go, but she hadn’t left a single piece, She had crossed the line(τομή), went a little it too far now, what you think you doin’ in there, huh, hiding in the cupboard like a stupid fuck, that’s She we’re talking about, and the clouds roared and the heavens wept and the light was cast away and there came wrath and the problem of evil was in sight, are you there already, great deceiver who hath made my woman engage in several acts of cannibalism over the last three years, is it true that you and the you who ‘who are you who who who who’* were acting a little strange and information shows that, repetition, repetition, I have lost my repetition, maybe he’s getting a little juvenile, we’ll fix that up for good and then his wife got pregnant (M.F. kicked them out of his house for good, no more playing mister wise, actually omniscient, omnipotent and, of course, or to draw your attention to, omnipresent [and omnibenevolent] guy, you fuck with the One and you find there are parts missing, all those warnings and look what they did, he/She fuck with something as fragile and he/She know its going to break and that other guy, who let him loose, turns round to his goons, είπα σας shίλιες φορές, εσείς εν ακούτε, βαόννετε το κανjέλλιν, εσείς τίποτε, and he sent them off to do his dirty laundry with Julius, he was doing time) they had I dunno how many kids and lived happily ever after as their genes would move on from generation to generation, too bad about the old one, Babel was it, something like that. Which of course is not true. [Except maybe for the phantom leg that was definitely (t)here.]

*The Who

‘Χρεώνει βαριές ευθύνες στους κομμουνιστές αυτό το εκλογικό αποτέλεσμα. Να γίνουν καλύτεροι, ποιοτικότεροι, να κάνουν περισσότερα ώστε αυτός ο πυρήνας να απλωθεί μ' αυτά τα χαρακτηριστικά σ' όλα τα μέτωπα. Διά ταύτα: Η ξεκούραση του πολεμιστή μετά τη μάχη, αναβάλλεται. Γιατί έχουμε αγώνα... σήμερα. Για να μπορούμε να βλέπουμε τον μπούσουλα να παίζει καρτίνι με καρτίνι όλο και πιο κοντά στη λαϊκή συμμαχία, για τη λαϊκή εξουσία και οικονομία που έχουν ανάγκη η εργατική τάξη και τ' άλλα λαϊκά στρώματα.’ - Rizospastis, 10/3/2004

‘Once, in 1946, while still an adolescent, I was to sign my name on the other side of the sky during a fantastic "realistico-imaginary" journey. That day, as I lay stretched upon the beach of Nice, I began to feel hatred for birds which flew back and forth across my blue sky, cloudless sky, because they tried to bore holes in my greatest and most beautiful work.
…
Jonathan Swift, in his Voyage to Laputa, gave the distances and periods of rotation of the satellites of Mars though they were unknown at the time;
When the American astronomer, Asoph Hall, discovered them in 1877, he realized his measurements were the same as those of Swift. Seized by panic, he named them Pbobos and Deimos, Fear and Terror! With these two words - Fear and Terror - I find myself before you in the year 1946, ready to dive into the void.
Long Live the Immaterial!
And now,
Thank you for your kind attention.

YVES KLEIN
Hotel Chelsea, New York, 1961’

["The Chelsea Hotel Manifesto"]

Joyceance!


F I N I G A N 'S W A K E

(Lively)
Tim Finigan liv'd in Walker Street,
An Irish Gentleman mighty odd,
He'd a beautiful brogue so rich and sweet,
And to rise in the world he carried the hod;
But you see he'd a sort of a tip-ling way
With a love of liquor poor Tim was born,
And to help him through his work each day,
He'd a drop of the creature ev'-ry morn.

(Chorus) (Boisterous)
Whack, hur-rah, dance to your partners,
Welt the flute your trot-ters shake,
Is-n't it truth I've told ye,
Lot's of fun at Fin-i-guns wake.

One morning Tim was rather full,
His head felt heavy, which made him shake,
He felt from the ladder and broke his skull;
So they carried him home his corpse to wake:
They rolled him up in a nice clean sheet,
And laid him out upon the bed,
With fourteen candles round his feet,
And a couple of dozen around his head.

(Chorus)

His friends assembled at this wake,
Missus Finigan called out for the lunch:
First they laid in tay and cake
Then pipes and tombaky and whiskey punch.
Miss Biddy O'Neil, began to cry:
"Such a purty corpse did you ever see:
Arrah! Tim avourneen, an' why did ye die?"
"Och, none of your gab", sez Judy Magee.

(Chorus)

Then Peggy O'Connor took up the job,
"Arrah, Biddy" says she, "ye'er wrong I'm sure."
But Judy then gave her a belt on the gob.
I left her sprawling on the fure.
Each side in war did soon engage:
'Twas woman to woman and man to man:
Shillelah law was all the rage,
And a bloody ruction soon began.

(Chorus)

Mickey Mulvaney raised his head,
When a gallon of whiskey flew at him
It missed him_and hoping on the bed,
The liquor scattered over Tim!
Bedad! he revives! see how he raises!
An' Timothy jumping from the bed,
Cries, while he lathered around like blazus:
"Bad luck till yer souls d'ye think I'm dead!"

(Chorus)


By Charles Glover, 1860's

[>researchers and staff of research centres have quit in France over lack of funding - at least they can exercise the right to the symbolic!-;)]

* kindly adapted from Ted Hughes' 'Tales from Ovid' - permission kindly not requested.

Tales for Ombid (Taliotis, D.) -

Ombid was the first
To split open the language witth a jamesonhare
The first
To plough from home and nurse harassements
...
Everything seems to (be) sound
It was then her all, not sitting but standing,
Noticed him.
She poured another litre, lettre on his face
whisky for the unwhiskered
'Gie mou', 'esou pou se to meso mou

'esou pou se ta sherka mou je ta daxtilia mou
ela da, mwro mou,
sou mprostra je gw ta piswn,
irten i wra na pamen eksw pou dame

en koutsioume pion kanena -
exasame je to Pallas, epie je to Athineon
Je twra 'en oulla OK'
Do we permit it?
Now is your opportunity'

Sitting, drinking with his companions.
Brilliant as butterflies
They flitted hither and thither exactly
'tis poutanas pale popse'
In the sweep of a single glance
And snatched him right away -
Love pauses for nothing,
especially Love for nothing

The sole condition -
Fixed by the waste around us-
Is this:
You will write as if you talked!
And you will see as if everybody saw

'enna se valw panw se mian aorati, theorati foukou esena
Skepsi!
na se thwroun oulloi na gennas
na gernas
na girnas'
...
In the sunless green cactusland, new and divided
we will produce this tell-tale
await for the summer,
our nature still divided
but Tall
(epetai)

["The continuance of auto-eroticism is what makes possible to retain for so long the easier momentary and imaginary satisfaction in relation to the sexual object in place of real satisfaction, which calls for effort and postponement."
Sigmund Freud

"...I learned that dangerous means of assisting it (ce dangereux supplement), which cheats Nature and saves up for young men of my temperment many forms of excess at the expense of their health, strength, and, sometimes, their life...If once he acquires this dangerous habit (supplement) he is ruined. "
J.-J. Rousseau

"The presence that isthusdelivered to us in the present is a chimera....Something promises itself as it escapes, gives itself as it moves away, and strictly speaking cannot even be called presence. Such is the constraint of the supplement, such, exceeding all the language of metaphysics, is this structure "almost inconceivable to reason"....The supplement is madening because it is neither presence nor absence and because it consequently breaches both our pleasure and our virginity."
Jacques Derrida


I don't want to get over you
I guess I could take a sleeping pill and sleep at will
Don't have to go through what I go through
I guess I could take Prozac, right
And smile all night
At somebody new,
Somebody sweet and nice
That will help me get you off my mind
But I don't want to get over you.

The Magnetic Fields, 69 Love Songs ]




WALTER BENJAMIN LEAVES PARIS

Come closer and I'll whisper good-bye in your ear.
Thank you for letting me know you, for sharing
an immense minute of my existence.
It will all be forgotten, of course.
There never was anything and what was once nothing
has the boundless space of nothigness
for it tomb.
But not everything is nothing:
something always remains.

A truce between adversity and catastrophe
and the fear and glory of having been born,
a few hours and a city will remain,
the ever more distant glow of this sad time.

Come closer and I'll whisper good-bye in your ear.
Good-bye. I'm leaving now.
But I'm taking these hours with me.

Jose Emilio Pacheco, From City of Memory [trans. Cynthia Steele and David Lauer, 1997, City Lights, San Fransisco (the legendary bookshop of 'Monsanto'!)]


["(T)he compulsion to repeat also recalls from the past experiences which include no possibility of pleasure, and which can never, even long ago, have brought satisfaction even to instictual impulses which have since been repressed (being) incompatible with reality...None of these things can have produced pleasure in the past, and it might be supposed that they would cause less unpleasure to-day if theu emerged as memories and dreams instead of taking the form of fresh experiences. They are of course the activities of instincts intended to lead to satisfaction; but no lesson has been learnt from the old experience of these activities having led instead only to unpleassure. In spite of that they are repeated, under pressure of a compulsion."
Sigmund Freud]


The city has no history
only martyrology.
Country of pain,
capital of suffering
the broken centre
of the great, unending disaster.

Jose Emilio Pacheco, From I Watch the Earth, Ibid


"A schizophrenic out on a walk is a better model than a neurotic
lying on the analyst’s couch" Deleuze and Guattari, Anti-Oedipus, Capitalism and Schizophrenia 1972 (1977, 2000) p.2

Under the skin the body is an over-heated factory,
and outside,
the invalid shines,
glows,
from every burst pore.

Antoin Artaud, Van Gogh, ['Did you hear that? She said Van Gof!-Van Gof! Who is that? Woody Allen, Manhattan] the Man Suicided by Society IN Artaud Anthology (trans. Mary Beach and Lawrence Ferlinghetti, City Lights [again!, San Fransisco, 1965)

"...Sivylla ti theleis; respondebat illa:Diaita thelw."

For Christos (Underground)
il miglior Ombionius Divisionakia


The Ressurection Cometh

April is the cruelest month, especially when Lent coincides with it
Breeding and Mixing Nuts and Pulses
Dull Roots with spring onions
Nerovrasta - No cheese
And I am not saying I do not like it
But when summer comes
Marie
We will be going to Paradise, Marie
Esy pashia pas tin motora
Marie, Hold on tight
Pas tis strofes tou Pomou
In the mountains, there you feel free
Jai en na famame psari fresko jai Imam tou Sokrati
Kotopoulo me guinnes
South
Where the giakynthei (sic)
Your arms full, and your hair wet
And I neither
Living nor Dead
Loking at our waist lines, and the silence
Fear death by water
Tha to voutisoume arages sou to piskotaki
FrouFrou, Bacandies, Papadopoulou, iON Sokofreta,
(Panta me Durex):
One must be so careful these days

Unreal City
Inder the broen fog of winter lunchtimes
A crowd flowed into Sainsbury's and MacDonald's and various other Sandwich shops, so many
And each man fixed his eyes before his feet
At the queue to the till
Staring that King of Kings of the Street
(Ton Kwlo!)
Crying:"Shizose!"

You who were with me during various feasts
I have the photos to proove it
That pig you left last year in your garden
Has it grown to size? Will we roast it this yera?
Or are we opting for those lovely shiny grey and green fishes
Dynamitised Out Again!
(Afou re to sheri sou en kommeno - Pws ekopike, a? En pou dynamiti re!
You! Hypocrite!)
My likenes My brother!

A Glass of Sherry

The stool we sat on, that magnificent throne,
Sticky and Stinking, Where the Glasses
Held up filled with fruited wines, barley distilled, and cactus extracts
From which Cuervo Gold is produced
(Allo ena me mia feta portokali jai pago)
Doubled flames na kain tis flegomenes nyhtes mas
Tis Olofotes Skotinies mas sta trapezakia tis avlis stin Division opou
The glitter of her jewels rose to meet us,
From underneath satin cases poured in rich profusion;
Unstoppered, Oh her strange synthetic and natural perfumes
and we troubled, confused
and drunk,more drunk by her odours, kai t' agiazi
Ki oneirevomaste lignes nyhtes sto fws ton kairion
Prin katantisoume eripia
Elefantes Astray
Rogue Elephantes
Fwkies tis Xiras
Filling the desert with inviolable voice
Emptying
Jug after Jug "to absent friends"
(to absent years)
And other withered stumps of time
Hushing in rooms enclosed
Spreading sideways mainly
Overflowing once empty troussers
All by ourselves.

A ta nevra mou! Ta nevra mou!
'Steile mou ta apo melani opiouha sou'
Na xerw ti skeftese, Na hortaso tin skepsi sou. Skepsi!

Mba! Den ein' ta kokala mou hontra -Apla eimai pashis!
'What is that noise?'
Ego jai shifko na diso ta kordonia mou
'What is that noise now? Pale esy?'
E, prepei na gyro pas ton toiho jai na valo to podi mou se touton to vitzin, na to anapso gia na anevasei to podi mou psila jai meta me touta ta extensions na diso ta papoutsia mou - theloun lion lathkiasma ta exartimata jai gia touto katsiarizei etsi polla - Sorry!

I remember, yes! those pearls that were her eyes!
And hers, And hers, And hers
And what if I am alive or dead!

Akoma ena potiraki sherry?
Allo ena - Pi en 5 i wra, pamen na pesoume
Katse re pou tha paeis etsi wra!

HURRY UP PLEASE IT'S TIME

den fwnazoun etsi sta agapimena mou Bar

HURRY UP PLEASE IT'S TIME
E, dinw ta papoutsia mou!
HURRY UP PLEASE IT'S dinner TIME

Kwlokordonia!
Goooooooooood! Goooooooooood!


(epetai syneheia)

gia tous aderfous talioti (me to simpathio):

'How is it possible to find meaning in a finite world, given my waist and shirt size?'
(Woody Allen)

"grigora kai apotelesmatika ntytheite me oti teleftaio prostazei i moda! apla parte to teleftaio quote pou vrikate sto pio apithano rafi tis vivliothikis, tin teleftaia frasi pou sas irthe sto myalo methymsmeni katamesimero, to aiwnio tsitato tis zwis sas kai KANTE TO FANELA."

proteino opws o kathenas pei pou 5-6 pramata na typothoun se faneles kai otan me to kalo ginoume www / i ws mail-katalogos na tis pouloume on demands jai ta esoda pota (i ependiseis gia ekdoseis)

episis to episimo slogan tis 'markas' - diladi o subtitle proteino na einai
THERE IS NO KANT - YPARHEI DEN THELO
fysika o oikos na legete ombion fashions i kati paremeferes

slogans + quotes ehoun idi e-pothei polla. ena pou ivra epses einai ena tou Salvador (pou to) Dali:

"I do not use drugs. I am drugs."

[isws gia afto den sunkentronoume jai eimai opou me evro jai opou se evro]

(w/ some background noise provided by Nobekazu Takemura’s ‘Solitary Walker’)

‘“I am God,” said Faustroll.
“Ha ha!” said Bosse-de-Nage, without further commentary.
Thus I remained in charge of the skiff with the baboon cabin boy, who passed the time by jumping on my shoulders and pissing down my back; but I beat him off with blows from a bundle of writes, and observed with curiosity from far off the demeanor of the gaily dressed man who had approved of Faustroll’s answer.’-- Alfred Jarry, Exploits and Opinions of Doctor Faustroll Pataphysician

‘Τα πράγματα που ο Ανδρέας ηγάπα υπεράνω όλων των άλλων, ήσαν κατά σειράν, αι ηδοναί του έρωτος, η ποίησις και τα μεγάλα ταξίδια – όμως, όχι εκείνα που επιτρέπουν, απλώς, την μουσειακήν, τρόπον τινά, διαπίστωσιν και ταξινόμησιν του λεγομένου «εντοπίου χρώματος», αλλά τα επιτρέποντα την προέκτασιν, την προβολήν και την συμμετοχήν εκάστου «Ενός», εκάστου «Εγώ», εκάστου Ατόμου, διά της βιουμένης προσωπικής κατανοήσεως της ολοκληρωτικής ουσίας και της οικουμενικής εννοίας, εις την καθολικότητα και τον πλήρη ρυθμόν του Κόσμου.’ - Ανδρέας Εμπειρίκος, Μέγας Ανατολικός

‘Almost 200 years later, around 370 B.C. or so, Plato wrote Timaeus, in which the soul of the world is described as having these same musical ratios. A cosmology was emerging in which the planets' radii (the planets' order actually varied, depending upon the author) were set with a ratio sequence of 1:2:3:4:8:9. Later, ratios would emerge with the following ratio sequence: Moon = 1; Venus = 2; Earth = 3; Mars = 4; Jupiter = 14; Saturn = 25. This sequence approximated the Greek diatonic musical scale's ratios, thus the planets were tied to music, and a concept of "the music of the spheres" was initiated.’ – note kept from some website I don’t remember

Apopira #1:
Ilika; fkiarin, ipokeimeno
To ipokeimeno, exontas tin entiposi pos einai extws twn ilikwn tis sin-tagis, pernontas sta herea tou to ftiari, skavi tripa stin ammo kai thavi to kefali tou mesa.

A: Tran-scen-den-tal arg-um-ents.
R2: Tran seen den teel aaar. [pause, switches on tap]. Trunseen dental arguments is when the employee and the client have an argument…
R1: It’s when it takes you to another level [moves hands].

‘Husserl, like other saints, fell a victim to his own ecstasy: he was unable to come out of this transcendental suspension. The harmless "bracketing" of commonsense realities became the metaphysical thesis that they can have none but an "intentional" existence in and for consciousness. Husserl does not see that we cannot suspend a belief if the belief suspended is meaningless.’
- Encyclopedia of Western Philosophy; Findlay, p. 145

‘He refers to a god who not only hasn't come yet, but perhaps doesn't exist. He gives the name of god to the one who is hoped for, and implies that the one who'd come and save us will have the name of god. I don't agree with this if it encourages hope for salvation, but if the statement means that we're waiting for the arrival of an unpredictable one, and that we must be hospitable to the coming of this one, then I've got no objection. This is a form of what I'd describe as messianicity without messianism, and we are by nature messianic. We cannot not be, because we exist in a state of expecting something to happen. Even if we're in a state of hopelessness, a sense of expectation is an integral part of our relationship to time.’ – Derrida, trace followed from some interview

‘Greece developed and progressed because it could rely on the services of unwilling slaves. We shall develop and progress with the help of the numerous willing slaves in universities and laboratories who provide us with pills, gas, electricity, atom bombs, frozen dinners and, occasionally, with a few interesting fairy-tales.’ – Paul Feyerabend, Against Method

‘The Brooklyn Bridge Blues

I’m too sick and tired
Of this world to drink in’t
–––if lustful gluttony
is my only blemishing sin
maybe I oughta just
starve to death
–––I am the
Writing Buddha–––
From these Blues we’ll
Go to H Y M N S

Chorus #10
And that’s all I can
recall of Brooklyn Bridge
tonight, John A Roebling
and Washington Roebling
built it, and it hath cables
and it does one good
to cross it every day–––
See my eerie wiseness?
Good night innocent children
of this mortal Sangsara
world, you have to keep
your mind empty & tranquil
and pure or the whole
Eternal Light escapes you
––Without the Eternal Light
you’re only a yakking fool
of rooms, beds, graves
and monuments ––with it,
you are like the Silent
Mountains of Snow
and more than
I know–––

JAN 28 1956

*******What is the date?
Twenty eight.’ -- Jack Kerouac

"Has not Nature proved, in giving us the strength necessary to submit them to our desires, that we have the right to do so?" Donatien-Alphonse-Francois de Sade, Aline et Valcour

"Being powerful is like being a lady. If you have to tell people you are, you aren't." - Margaret Thatcher

cabaret

'Mr. Brown: O.K., let me tell you what Like a Virgin's about. It's all about this cooze who's a regular fuck machine, I'm talking morning, day, night, afternoon, dick, dick, dick, dick, dick, dick, dick, dick, dick.
Mr. Blue: How many dicks is that?
Mr. White: A lot.
Mr. Brown: Then one day she meets this John Holmes motherfucker and it's like, whoa baby, I mean this cat is like Charles Bronson in the Great Escape, he's digging tunnels. Now, she's gettin' the serious dick action and she's feeling something she ain't felt since forever. Pain. Pain. It hurts her. It shouldn't hurt her, you know her pussy should be Bubble Yum by now, but when this cat fucks her it hurts. It hurts just like it did the first time. You see the pain is reminding a fuck machine what it once was like to be a virgin. Hence, "Like a virgin." ' - Quentin Tarantino, Reservoir Dogs

'την παρθενιά της επανορθώσαμε σφιχτά με ράμματα
την κουβαλήσαμε και μας κουβάλησε στον ανεμόμυλο' - Κώστας Τριπολίτης, Ανεμολόγιο

"Sometimes a cigar is just a cigar." - Sigmund Freud

Τα ζώα γράφουν στο Θεό
(από το Mark Bricklin)

Aγαπητέ Θεέ,

Το αντίστροφο του "Dog" στα αγγλικά
είναι "God".
Λες οι Εγγλέζοι σκύλοι να είναι σατανιστές;

Phelix the Dog
...

Oksa laleis nan o ka8e skulos mas 8eos?...
...'h o 8eos mas na'nai skulos??
Peerierga(upo-dog-matika) pramata!

Athina, Antifwnitis, Apothiki (tote), Au Revoir
Bayreth. Beirut, Bach, Barthes, Barbayianni(s), Black Bush, BB)C(antos, 'C'mon you Cunt'-
Cave, Nick
Dem. Diafana Krina, Derrida
E., e, Elytis, Odysseas, Eliot, T.S.
Food, Foyles, FW
Good, Gould, Glenn, Gyrinoi (tote) - Gaia
Hantatji, Hazirin, Hamolios
Iiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii
Joyceance, Jerry Lee Lewis
Kala kathoumena (tote), Koutsomoures, Krasaki mou Amerimno - Karouzos, Nikos
Lesvos(tote), Lisboa., Loras, Lewis, Jeffrey
Marida, Mont Blanc
Nero, Nicosia, New Division
Ombion, Ouzo, Oatcakes
Piiiii!, Paris Patroklos, Pound, Ezra, Pashiardis, Michalis
Qwlopetinitsa
Rono, 'ran(i)tsis, Evgenios
Savvopoulos (tote)
Tom Waits, Tsartelles (tou kouthkiou)
U (+ only you)
Vyzen
Whiskey, Waits, Tom, Wagner, Richard (Parsifal!!)
Xrist(O-s)/e
You
Z (siga na men!)

Όταν το ταβάνι κλαίει

Μια μητέρα τινάζει το μωρό της στον αέρα έτσι που
χτυπάει το ταβάνι.
Ο πατέρας λέει, γιατί του το κάνεις αυτό του ταβανιού;
Θες να πετάξει το μωρό μας στον ουρανό; το ταβάνι ειν΄
εκεί για να γυρίζει σε μένα το μωρό μου, λέει η μητέρα.
Ο πατέρας λέει, το πονάς το ταβάνι, δεν ακούς που
κλαίει;
Έτσι, μητέρα και πατέρας ανέβηκαν σε μια σκάλα και
φίλησαν το ταβάνι.

(Russel Edson,
ομώνυμο)

και

Απάντηση

"Μα πώς περπατάς επί των κυμάτων;" ρώτησα.
"'Εχασα το δρόμο" μου λέει.

(Tάσος Λειβαδίτης,
"Βιολέτες για μια εποχή")

ενώ

Χρόνια Ολόκληρα

Χρειαζόμασταν μια ρόδα. Έτσι ο πατέρας είπε ότι θα
βαδίζει κυκλίκα.
Όμως ο πατέρας αποφασίζει να σταθεί ακίνητος και
λέει ότι συμπλήρωσε τον κύκλο.
Χρόνια ολόκληρα χρειαζόμασταν μια ρόδα. Όμως ο
πατέρας στεκόταν απλώς ακίνητος.

(Russel Edson,
ομώνυμο)

και

Πανσέληνος

"Μητέρα, της λέω, μη μου ετοιμάζεις πια το γάλα - δεν μπο-
ρείς να καταλάβεις ότι είσαι πεθαμένη;" Περίμενα να δω τι θα πει.
Ήταν Ιούνιος, βράδυ, με μια φανταστίκη πανσέληνο στον ουρανό.
Και μη μου πείτε πως αυτό δεν ήταν μια απάντηση.

(Τάσος Λειβαδίτης,
"Βιολέτες για μια εποχή")



"...
δεν είμαι τα άστρα
ούτε η πάλη

μ΄ολο αστράφτω
και παλεύω
..."

Ταπεινά,
δ'ηχος
της αμαρτίας μου,
σας χαιρετώ

oh, i donknow if the neuamsterdammen attributes and plumbing etc 'cough' bit doooooooowwwwwwwwwwn here avec phono/photographic engravings the ratatatatatatata snoar in repetition. Insight Out of it as good as in. Competitious in minds, in absenti of the cataclysmic entry point of the '78's bushing up midday and clainging opa! oh,

"Vrika to synoro tis gis pou meno panta monos:
"Pou tha pioume apopse."
kei pou teleiwnei mia hara ki arhizei enas ponos."

Gia tin melancholia

Mi fovaste. Otan sas ktypisei tin porta kai den anoixete
tha fygei. Einai euthikti eutuxws,
ein' eutuxws asynithisi sta oxi.


Pros Zwi

Mou to xanakanes ayto, thymasai;


"Judas!"
"I don't beleive you...You liar!"


[In order of appearrants:
Pashiardis Michalis
Montis Kwstas
(An Audience with) Dylan Bob]


"CabareTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT!"

‘«διαφερομενον αυτο αυτω συμφερεσθαι,» «ωσπερ αρμονιαν τοξου τε και λυρας»’
– Heracleitus

‘Είπαν οι άλλοι: γιατί; κι εκείνος να γνωρίσει
κι εκείνος τη ζωή μέσα στα ματια του αλλου.
Αλλου ματια δεν ειδα, δεν αντικρισα
παρα δακρυα μεσα στο Κενο που αγκαλιαζα’
- Odysseas Elytys, ‘Άξιον εστίν Δ`’

Panic panic ‘open up your skull ill be there’, the room falling in. Tides of eastern hordes windowcleaner smashes into inner asylum/hermetic nausea derived panic. Cut and cut here again and that’s it cut glass silver mountain without. All blue baby over it’s now crossing the line.

līmen , ĭnis, n. [Gr. lechris, loxos; Lat. obliquus, līmus; hence prop. a cross-piece] , a threshold; the head-piece or foot-piece of a doorway, the lintel or the sill (limen superum et inferum).

lĭmĕnarcha , ae, m. [vox hybrida; limen, archô; cf. Germ. Markgraf; Engl. margrave] , a commander on the frontier: limenarchae et stationarii fugitivos deprehensos recte in custodiam retinent, Dig. 11, 4, 4 ; Paul. Sent. 1, 6, 3 (acc. to others, a harbor-master, port-warden).

eperase (je) i kathara deutera, gone is too Ash-Wednesday xwris reference, xwris signifieds - mono to imerologio tharreis, oi 40 sxedon meres prin to pasxa - reference mono stin paradosi, sto persi, sto apopanta ethimo. Je twra, olotaxws pros to Pasxan or the greek 'Passover'.
isixia endwgenis, ekswstrefeis, amigdalies pantou, ate twra na ksanaftiakseis ti zwi sou, na tin ksanagapiseis na kouvaliseis stavrous - je na gia(ti) panta itan i pio agapimeni metafora: epeidi en metafora en je ek fisews-
the Absence of the signified/ oi signs ma symbols instead.
deadlines, you see: ws tes 11 apriliou prepei na anastithoume, ws tes 21 apriliou prepei (pou makria) na ftiaksoume mia nea xwra, a spacial field.

i agwnia me agwnia (en) perniete/

to fws tis, epitelous, na kleiseis
ti thimisi
'twn allwn to allou mia vithismeni mousiki'
afiste tou allous na milisoun:

Giati pantote menoun
Nwpa osa ainigmata istorise
O xronos s'ola glistroun tou kormiou
Ta koitasmata san skotadi akatergasto
per' ap' tis nixtas ta xeili epimenoun
ekei opou argoi ki aneksigitoi
Vlastainoun oi stixoi('Mnimosini', Kwstas Koutsourelis)


Δε σας φοβάμαι φαντάσματα.
Φαντάσματα δε σας φοβάμαι.
Στο κάτω - κάτω είσαστε και σεις φαντάσματα
Φαντάσματα μες στα φαντάσματα.
Εγώ είμαι άνθρωπος
Άνθρωπος όμως φάντασμα μες στους ανθρώπους.
Αν υπάρχει αναμεσά σας φάντασμα
Φάντασμα όμως άνθρωπος μες στα φαντάσματα
Ας έρθει.
Να βρεθούμε.
Δε θα πάει χέρι χέρι
θα ενώσουμε τις δυνάμεις μας
για την διάλυση των φαντασμάτων
για τη διάλυση των ανθρώπων
για να δημιουργηθούν άνθρωποι φαντάσματα
και φαντάσματα άνθρωποι.
Να καταργηθεί η απόσταση ανάμεσα
στους κόσμους.
Να πάψει το διάστημα ανάμεσα
στους χρόνους.
Έλα λοιπον σε περιμένω ήσυχα.
Ξέρω πως υπάρχεις. Ξέρεις πως υπάρχω.
Δεν είναι τόσο δύσκολο να έχουμε επαφή.
Εσύ θα μου μαθαίνεις το θρόϊσμα και την αφή
πως να σε νιώθουν τα νεύρα μου.
Κι εγώ θα σου μαθαίνω ανάγνωση, σιγά σιγά
την αλφαβήτα.
Να με νιώθεις τι θέλω να κάνω.("ΦΑΝΤΑΣΜΑΤΑ", Νικόλας Άσιμος)


Ολα τα πράγματά μου έμειναν όπως
να 'χω πεθάνει πριν από καιρούς.
Σκόνη στη σκόνη εγέμισεν ο τόπος,
και γράφω με το δάκτυλο σταυρούς.

Ολα τα πράγματά μου αναθυμούνται
μιαν ώρα που περάσαμε μαζί,
σ' εκείνη τα βιβλία μου λησμονούνται,
σ' εκείνη το ρολόι ακόμα ζει.

Ηταν ευτυχισμένη τότε η ώρα,
ήταν ένα δείλι ζωγραφιστό.
Εχω πεθάνει τόσα χρόνια τώρα,
κι έμεινε το παράθυρο κλειστό.

Κανένας, ούτε ο ήλιος, πια δε μπαίνει.
Το ερημικό μου σπίτι αντιβοεί
στην ώρα κείνη ακόμα, που σημαίνει,
αυτή μονάχα, βράδυ και πρωί.

Δεν ξέρω δω ποιος είναι τώρα ο τόπος,
σε ξέρω ποιος χαράζει τους σταυρούς,
κι όλα τα πράγματά μου έμειναν όπως
να 'χω πεθάνει πριν από καιρούς.
([Ολα τα πράγματά μου έμειναν...], Κωνσταντίνος Καρυωτάκης)

'you used to be so amused' - Bod Dylan

'before is always forever' - Tindersticks

"Now, little boy lost, he takes himself so seriously
He brags of his misery, he likes to live dangerously
And when bringing her name up
He speaks of a farewell kiss to me
He's sure got a lotta gall to be so useless and all
Muttering small talk at the wall while I'm in the hall
How can I explain?
Oh, it's so hard to get on
And these visions of Johanna, they kept me up past the dawn"