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Tuesday, September 25, 2018

in the still of the day, somewhere between the last office hour and the 9 pm news, it smells like a storm is coming and I have to run

they're serving happy slings down the pub and all my friends will be there, partying Anjie's birthday, cheering for that promotion Dan's been waiting for, there's something to find if you search too well

some things that you give you can't retrieve probably because they were not only yours in the first place_

Monday, September 24, 2018

this was the "draw a map to get lost, you're just one decision far from what you're living right now you know" moment captured on my Nikon - a capsule that contained part bravery, part genius, and three parts nostalgia of something, not even Ryker himself knows where it came from, but always shows in his photographs, even when he smiles_

at that point, he wasn't smiling

both of us wanted absolutely zero drama, and yet every time we've managed to nail these moments when our talks felt like a sudsy tidal wave - making beauty, then- deciding it was too much we threw it away- let me tell you about these moments they were an accumulated mass: burning so long and so quiet, a longing slightly bruised and shimmering, soon toast, soon tossed 

so I stole the fragments  - an outright theft - I just took them and hid them away_ there was no planning, no premeditation or calculation, just simple bursts of spontaneous larcenies; I wanted them to myself, for myself, and I was unwilling to share them with anyone else but him. I've never been a fragment stealer before, never contemplated the idea, I wasn't even sure how many times again I'd do it, but I did it, and it was profound and satisfying, like an artistic triumph or a structure well-built. I cannot show them off or give them back, they must remain my private, criminal act. 

Hell Explained by a Chemistry student !


Topic: Humor via laugh out loud news

The following is an actual question given on a University of Arizona chemistry mid-term, and an actual answer turned in by a student.
The answer by this student was so ‘profound’ that the professor shared it with colleagues, via the Internet, which is, of course, why we now have the pleasure of enjoying it as well:
The Question:

Is Hell exothermic (gives off heat) or endothermic (absorbs heat)?

Most of the students wrote proofs of their beliefs using Boyle’s Law (gas cools when it expands and heats when it is compressed) or some variant.

One student, however, wrote the following:

First, we need to know how the mass of Hell is changing in time. So we need to know the rate at which souls are moving into Hell and the rate at which they are leaving, which is unlikely. 
I think that we can safely assume that once a soul gets to Hell, it will not leave. 
Therefore, no souls are leaving. As for how many souls are entering Hell, let’s look at the different religions that exist in the world today.
Most of these religions state that if you are not a member of their religion, you will go to Hell. Since there is more than one of these religions and since people do not belong to more than one religion, we can project that all souls go to Hell. With birth and death rates as they are, we can expect the number of souls in Hell to increase exponentially. 
Now, we look at the rate of change of the volume in Hell because Boyle’s Law states that in order for the temperature and pressure in Hell to stay the same, the volume of Hell has to expand proportionately as souls are added.

This gives two possibilities:

If Hell is expanding at a slower rate than the rate at which souls enter Hell, then the temperature and pressure in Hell will increase until all Hell breaks loose.
If Hell is expanding at a rate faster than the increase of souls in Hell, then the temperature and pressure will drop until Hell freezes over.

So which is it?

If we accept the postulate given to me by Teresa during my Freshman year that, 
‘It will be a cold day in Hell before I sleep with you,' 
and take into account the fact that I slept with her last night, then number two must be true, and thus I am sure that Hell is exothermic and has already frozen over. 
The corollary of this theory is that since Hell has frozen over, it follows that it is not accepting any more souls and is therefore, extinct….. …leaving only Heaven, thereby proving the existence of a divine being which explains why, last night, Teresa repeatedly kept shouting 
'Oh my God, I’m coming!’


by reddit user PirbyKuckett 

Sunday, August 26, 2018

Sketches Of Summer

And the sweetest part of day is when you stay
A little longer than you say
And linger on in evenings way
Oh to be closer

Oh, you're everything
You're everything to me
Oh, you're everything

Στην Βέιλε της Δανίας, νότια της χερσονήσου της Γιουτλάνδης στέκεται πάνω στο νερό το σπίτι φιόρδ, το αμφίβιο κτίριο των γραφείων της εταιρείας επενδύσεων Kirk Kapital. Στο ισόγειο υπάρχει το Fjordhvirvel, ένας σίφουνας από ανοξείδωτο ατσάλι, αν τον κοιτάξεις φωτισμένον θα δεις στο πάτωμα δεκάδες κόχγες που ενώνονται να σχηματίσουν ένα στρόβιλο_

Στη μύτη πλάι στο Φάρο η παλίρροια φουσκώνει μπλε και γκρι πίσω από μια φιγούρα που χει ντυθεί στο χρώμα της. Στην άκρη μια ξανθιά φωτισμένη  τελίτσα ανεμίζει και απομακρύνεται. Στο χώμα υπάρχει μια γραμμή από βήματα, μια ράγα που αν ακολουθήσεις σε βγάζει κατευθείαν στον ήλιο, αυτόν που λέει ότι τον ενδιαφέρει πάντα το από μέσα, αυτόν που έχεις έρθει ως εδώ δεκάδες φορές να περιμένεις μέχρι να βγει και να καθίσει δίπλα σου_ Μέσα από τον καθρέφτη λες ένα γεια σου που δεν ακούει (κάθε μέρα λες πράγματα που δεν θ' ακούσει) κι η φιγούρα μακραίνει, θολώνει, γίνεται όσο ένα σπίρτο, κοιτάει τη θάλασσα και δεν σε βλέπει, κι εσύ με μισή θέληση έχεις ήδη φτάσει στη γωνία, κι ύστερα σ' ένα κτίριο που μοιάζει με το σπίτι σου_ 

Σκοπός είναι να νομίζεις ότι το κτίριο ανταποκρίνεται στις κινήσεις της παλίρροιας και στα σπινθιρίσματα του φωτός στην επιφάνεια του νερού_ 

Σκοπός είναι να νομίζεις ότι η φυγή χωρίς να περιμένω να επιστρέψεις ανταποκρίνεται στη θέλησή μου να φεύγω και στις υποχρεωτικές πορείες των πραγμάτων


το πιο γλυκό μέρος της μέρας 
ήταν όταν έμενες 
λίγο περισσότερο απ' όσο έλεγες ότι θα μείνεις 
και καθυστερούσες λίγο για να νυχτώσει 
για να είμαστε κοντά 

Tuesday, August 14, 2018

simple: it was -and is- love;
the kind that you yourself decided will exist for no apparent reason_
not because they are perfect -they're not- nor because they look so good -even if they do- not because you'll have them -even if you do- and certainly not because you fell for them -maybe you did that too- predominately, absolutely, unquestionably it was, and is- love;

and you know how you know? despite what you share or you don't, despite the time that goes by and every mixed up mashed up emotion, need, want or their opposites, you're always soft for each other no matter what,  no matter what_

Friday, August 10, 2018


you say arbuz , we say karpuzi - and our hillbillies pronounce it karpuz'  
it is a Persian word cherbuze, karpuz in Turkish 
in Polish- you  stress the a  in Greek we stress the u .
We never discussed about this specific word, arbuz
but four days in and you were already picking up sounds 
then words, making comparisons of our vocabularies to yours
you say salata right? well we say Sałatka " - you sounded so happy
with that discovery of yours _ salad
which is Venetian from the Roman sal, salt that is;
and I don't know if it would be the taste of watermelon
or the taste of salt one would remember mostly
if they ever tasted both for the first time
but I'm pretty certain they would recall the tingle up their spines
if they had just had a kiss that tasted like both

Friday, July 13, 2018

Sweet street Music

- Hang On -Amos Lee -

Now there are a thousand ways I could speak, and a thousand things I could speak of but there's an insistent conviction that no matter what I say, or do, some people, who were once "my" people, have their own roads to take, their own ideas of what's going on, or should go on, and their own destinies to fulfil.

We come and go in life, into and out of people's lives for reasons beyond our current (or recurrent) comprehension as if there's some cosmic chess taking place and life picks us up and places us next to other forces compliant, opposite -or gee I can't describe every possibility- to us and we're tested, and we learn, and we go on, and eventually one way or another we thrive.

It's quite a slap to realize that along the way we may cause or suffer casualties, that we may be missed, or miss, that some of our "chosen" ones _no matter what we chose them for or placed them in our hearts_ won't tag along for the ride. I've had my share, everyone has theirs. But again for some reason we keep them dear in our hearts like sailors that have gone astray , or ships that honked away into the night, crossing our path and disappearing , but always their sound will return to our ears like happy news , or fond days, where happiness resides.

Some, it is true, are sounds we wish to hush, and -make no mistake - even their routes feel lonelier without us. Even if they chose to sail, because there was no other way.

I've been both the sounding horn and the husher... I'm sure you too. And as much as I'd like to tell you that street music has been one my blessings in life you may choose not to believe me. I for one thank you for it.

Be sound darling. And here's some Amos Lee for you.
Happy journeys.


Happy Dreamer by Laid Back

“And so with the sunshine and the great bursts of leaves growing on the trees, just as things grow in fast movies, I had that familiar conviction that life was beginning over again with the summer.” - F. Scott Fitzgerald, The 

Tuesday, June 19, 2018


You've got an artist's hands, said Phillip, holding my right hand in his, kind like a child's, soft, supple he studied my fingers, and then he asked me to open my mouth so he could look inside. 
I was always embarrassed thinking people who see me laugh will instantly notice the metal fillings and forget I was even enjoying myself. 
Oh come on, it's my bloody job, he insisted, and I thought and now hear it from an orthodontist sweetheart this is a good metal mouth you've got there go ahead and ruin the charm_ 
Good teeth there, great in fact, and I praised my dentist both inside and out - god knows what she's been through with me refusing to take the shot and agonizing each time she neared me with that sting. God Kate this feels like a syringe to inject a fucking cow, can't open sorry_ 
As for the hands, it's not I was crazy about them either. What I loved was how they made me feel, each time I petted a small animal, each time I was done writing a piece I liked, or dipped them in something grainy, or played the piano_ and now I liked how they felt as they tapped on Phillip's back, easily tracking his spine under calm skin and layers upon layers of softness he'd conceal so well. 

Monday, June 18, 2018


oh how you are sensuous when you least want it, oh how he's moved by you when you least expect him to, there's music and there's a silver slipper of a moon and the cicadas wonder whether to silence or to go insane, and there is madness in the way he pauses and looks at you, and there's a shoulder sparkling in the dark, the one he kisses with his eyes as you tease him with total ignorance_ 

Saturday, June 16, 2018

you laugh your own way and I'll laugh mine 

I've once read that what goes on in one's mind goes on in one's room, or vice versa_  the tidiness, the dust, how many doors are open, or if they keep the shutters down, if there is music or a telly mumbling in the back, are the dishes washed, dried, stored back in the cupboards, if there are shoes on the floor, pants hanging on the doorknob, the laundry basket overflowing, simply full, or empty, the kind of stuff we pick up from the street, the little things we store (or throw away) old tickets, bills, receipts, things that don't work anymore but we refuse to toss; and what does it mean when there remains a suitcase in the hallway, one we neglect to empty so many days after we've come back, sat on the table, had dinners, move on to what needs to be done, what is it with suspension when we lie in bed at nights thinking there must be a place so unbolted, so uplugged, where nothing of the sort matters_  

Wednesday, June 13, 2018

the game

I want you to kiss me like this
soft and swirly, sweet at first
then later melted, sticky stuck

and like a gypsy girl I saw on the street
in my skinny-tight studded dress
and my loose hair and  my deep magenta pout
and my wild eyes
I'll kiss you back and bite hard as I can

You say you're above all that
you've convinced yourself well
or try to convince me
well I don't care what you say
I do not believe you

I would, had you given up on that game you play
had you tried the sweet dark and refused its taste
but you are lying that's not the way you feel
not when you love the agony of holding back till it aches
as much as you do

you see, I remember the look in your eyes
when words danced on my lips
words like tasting what's most sensitive
words like eating you slow

and I remember each time you're sweating
each time you embrace me and your ribs brush half-wet against my breasts
how the danger of this nearing pours like honey on your spine

it is the same as when you adore arguing with me
and then admit you'll go and agree with anything I say
because I said so

You think your heart's your own
to lay down like a red chip
to share or not share
but it isn't

it belongs to whoever can win it
to whoever can keep it
to whoever has the tools
to break inside your chest
and take the red out of you

and I know you like to win
and I know you think I'll win
because I slide my hands between your lines
into the privacy of your thoughts
into the hunger beneath your words

let me tell you
when my hand comes away smelling of you
the morning you, the real you
and each step I take I'm chased away by your scent
with nowhere to go
it's only then you'll have won
only then

Thursday, May 31, 2018


open your shutters, darling, listen there is a song coming from the street, it's summer again słoneczko and there's so much light to go out and play, shall we get dirty and dance? among strangers, in the glow of the sunset? To the warmth of firelight? Shall we? 

think of the time you fell in love: that blinding explosion that left you cracking to the fingertips with electricity, initiated and transformed

I’m afraid,” he wrote. “Afraid 
that you’re everything.” 

And here 
the ‘g’ in ‘everything’ looked at him 
from the page with its wide, 
tearful eye, full of bravery, full of 
self reliance and hope and light. 

“Afraid that if I reach out, 
you’ll go away and I’ll have 
nothing… nothing.” 
And here 
the two ‘g’s in the ‘nothings’ were 
like her breasts, her lips, her cheeks… 
promising worlds beyond the page. 

I don't need a "welcome" mat or any other sign - to me the door is always open as long as you exist in this world _sometimes people will open their doors for you but halt you on the way to the dining room _ 
I'll only enter when the time feels right_ no,
I'm not waiting to be called upon or invited in
you see it's simple that way, you stormed in when nothing else could get inside with all those boxes in my hallway 
and it was quite the sensation
trying to find a way to dismiss you but failing flat
it's summer again  słoneczko  
I don't need to get inside
shall we get dirty and dance słoneczko ?


Did you know that O.K. means zero killed? 

Wednesday, May 30, 2018

whatever makes you feel the sun from the inside out, chase that 
_ gemma troy 

this time I'll recompensate for the summer of 16' and the holiday I ruined for that poor company of mine who spent a whole week trying to convince me the earth's not flat and the moon isn't made of paper_ 

I won't try to bring back the romance that went down with each stone I swallowed aiming to find a seabed made of wet footprints that dissolve with the movement of the current; I'll simply give back what was earned when shit hit the fan and they saw through_ 

it's not easy seeing through but that's what people do, even if there's no dance, no holy dance, no wash away, no fold of bees that is what people do_ they see through _ 

and one day I'll look down my left wrist and find the shape of you transformed into something else, something that isn't yours anymore_ maybe not tonight, but one day ... 

Tuesday, May 8, 2018

it's a beautiful mess

Love's A Stranger - Warhaus 

Back in the day when answering machines were the fad I was too young. I saw this in a movie, she'd get back from the office and find the red light bleeping, pressed the button, leaned against the wall and bit her fingernail, her thumb playing on the tip of her tongue, and she'd laugh, neck tilted, hair loose, taking off one shoe then the other, one arm on the back of her waist as if she carried some impossible weight, but she was tiny, and perfect looking in a crisp white shirt. 

I can't say for sure what movie it was, or maybe it was a bunch of movies, a lovely cliche my kiddo eyes translated into a collective mental image I've conjured up on my own. Thing is answering machines ceased to exist and so did this image in my head. We had chat rooms, then inboxes, texting and messengers, writing is great I guess but you've got to know the other person all too well to grasp their tone in written discourse. Highly unromantic too after a while, I'm kind of old school I prefer letters, but who writes letters these days _ too bad, too bad, it ruins the anticipation, instantly gratifying you and stuff. 

I've been there, having to wait, or at least not standing over an all-managing device to let me know if the recipient has been reached if I will get an answer now or when ... I liked it, not knowing... and then came this voice mail. Not like an answering machine but kinda does this to you if you don't freak on checking the thing every minute of the hour. 

In fact, that old collective mental image came back, I caught myself doing these very moves - minus the tiny crisp white shirt obviously. Only now there are pictures following the voice mail, from that remote little tavern we sat that afternoon in Mykonos, watching Vanessa feeding our octopus slices to a hundred cats, getting a little flushed, giggling a little bit extra... so Munich is sunny these days and Athens is soggy ... but jolly wild, glad;