Σάββατο, 31 Μαρτίου 2012


So, there he is, Christian Bale on the centre of the picture, utterly naked with the exception of a pair of white trainer shoes, bathed literally in crimson blood from head to toe, in this case, to trainer shoe, holding a raging chainsaw. He walks hurriedly down the hallway, chasing a half naked, terrified and screaming, prostitute. I guess this is what they made the phrase "Screaming Bloody Murder" for. Or not. Anyway, this is the point where I actually start paying the outmost attention, because, well, I am thinking, -what?!?!- 

And just at that point, I develop a crazy craving for chocolate. I get all kinds of cravings when I watch movies, chocolate is the least crazy one of them.
Until I actually realize that what I am now watching is a scene where an ATM machine asks of Bale to "feed it a stray cat" just as the cutest little kitten crawls beside his legs and purrs most adorably. So, naturally -ha!- , he pulls out a gun and aims at the kitty, whilst trying to feed it to the money withdrawal socket of the ATM. But, oh no, an old lady shouts at him to stop, -Bale still holding the gun at the kitty-. The old lady had it coming, drops dead. Police sirens - we are talking immediate action!-, psychedelic orchestration that warns of a pursuit scene, then car alarms, Bale running through alleys, hunted by the policemen, at some point, confronts them, looks at them and shrugs his shoulders,- i am thinking, wait, shouldn't he say something like "are you talkin' to me?" right about now?-. Guns are drawn out, one dead cop, two explosions, I mean; the police car bursts into a fiery smoke of a mushroom. Long story short, visible as the fact that this man is crazy, sweat running like rivers covers his face in a declaration of sheer panic. But panic for what? Because he shot a dozen people that fell cold and drained from blood like puppets or because he is scared shitless that, well, now it has become kind of obvious as daylight that he is a psychopath and that he will be pursuited and caught, for his unstoppable urge to kill is not accompanied with particular carefulness or restraint. Calls his lawyer, cries "you are my lawyer, you should know I killed a lot of people", starts saying certainly more than just a dozen names. "maybe twenty people, maybe forty". Wait, the end is not that near. Says "I tried to cook tonight", and at that point, I don't think anyone is surprised, but even so, well,... Hangs up the phone, "keep your eyes open", just a glimpse in a fraction of a second of relief as the muscles on his face loosen and then distortion again.

Next scence, next day, bright new day indeed.
Well, as it turns out, no one was ever killed by the hands of Mr. Bateman, many were slayed by his twisted imagination. And I cannot stop myself from wondering, what exactly does the story of the American Psycho mean? Just another thriller cult movie, that eventually fails to make you even wonder what it is that you have just watched? Is it just random that psychosis and revelling insanity sprout from within the very bowels of a consumerist and  modern-day organised and degenerate lifestyle? A lifestyle meant to defuse all inhibitions and social restraints in the anonymity of the big hip city and replace all that with the imperative cultivation of the "image culture". The crazy of the '80s, the demoralisation of the business market and the inane and bootless character of the modern culture, more specifically pop music, all prevail in this film. There is one scene in particular where Bateman gets his nemesis co-worker drunk and back to his apartment where he puts on a raincoat, and splits the guy's (Jared Leto) head in two with a shinning axe, continuing on to just axing him a little more, while we see the blood spattering on Bateman's face. All that while a Huey Lewis & The News song plays on the background, and Bale does a little dance overtaken by the energy that the prospect of cold blooded murder offers him. I do have to admit, I laughed out loud at this point. So I thought, black humour huh? or satire? or maybe both.
And thus, I come to my last question; does everything have to have a profound meaning? Does all need to be in the end serious, didactic and thought-inducing?
Well, American Psycho, for me, did work in an alarming manor - it made me write this really long article didn't it?-. But most certainly not from the very beginning.
However, this question has been bothering me for quite some time now, and drifting away from the "American Psycho" analysis, I would like to take a minute and reflect on that.

Let's assume that not everything has a deeper meaning, in the sense that some things exist in human lives only to accommodate certain human needs and when they do so not to be ever considered again. But even then, even when the purpose is to solely fulfil the most trivial needs of men, that automatically qualifies any function to be really meaningful. Meaning thus, that something has no meaning whatsoever when the need it is supposed to fulfil and the purposes of its existence are fictional. Right?
I think now, even I myself am very very confused. 
People of the modern age have numerous needs and desires and each one of them have the potential of being satisfied, but how can someone nowadays really know what one is in need of. There are the
"plastic needs", and there are the primitive needs, the physical drives and urges and needs, and the spiritual needs.

 What I want to say, is; do all movies present a special message? are you not supposed to leave the movie theatre with nothing to say about how you spent the last two hours or so of your life? is all art representative of some greater idea that is so subtle that it cannot be put to words? does everything need to be analysed and attributed to social structuralism and human behavioural patterns? is it okay for people just pass time, without producing any spiritual or physical work whatsoever and stop? Stop everything, freeze their thoughts and feelings, numb them that is with anything that will come in handy-with everything that the social standards and mass-culture archetypes force down their throats, inject in their veins, feed their emotionally wrecked and violated minds, against their natural tendency to always think and feel. But, think this, it is the end of the day, a really bad day, hell was raised in the office, you shouted at someone on the phone, people shouted back at you in the street while you tried to talk on the phone and hold your plastic coffee container on one hand and drive simultaneously to a professional meeting across town, you got stuck in jam, maybe on your way back home you spilled your third cup of coffee all over the driver's seat, etc etc. You finally lock your doors, hide from behind you heavy closed curtains and sink into the couch. Turn on your TV, all that is on is an annoyingly stupid TV series, or a late night show interviewing hollywood starlets that always laugh a lot, and one channel with the news talking about next month's elections or a bombing incident in Syria, or a documentary about the environmental issue in Bangladesh. What will you watch? It would be sheer masochism if when all day so far has been a proof of how much the world sucks to ask for more. So, when we wonder why have people resigned from thinking and from having a truly productive “free time”, we should consider the possibility that they simply cannot. They do not have much of a choice. Better this way actually, for when you force someone’s mind to overwork so that it can try to keep pace with the reality of this “fast forward” society the most probable results are going to be catastrophic. Yes, ideas will be produced but they will have been nurtured in agitation and distress, they will be twisted.

So, we all are crazy. We are crazed beyond our limits and we still insist that this is the way everything is supposed to be. That this is somehow right.

Lately, this odd thought has been swirling around my head; humans and all living organisms are a product of nature. If not a product per se,  then surely something like what a branch to a big old tree is. Nature and the whole of the natural ecosystem presents magnificent calm and symmetry. Isn’t it an abomination, something that disrupts that calm and defies the “rules”? Us?
Oh, and by the way, yeah, in the end, the prostitute dies a rather phantasmagorical death. A lot of blood and a chainsaw with its own will form high above.

Πέμπτη, 29 Μαρτίου 2012

hardcore will never die, but you will

 water and mist and brain cells and all me,
thus all melts into my thoughts and strained recollection

whisper to me the pulse that breathes your life ,
and say,
say that we are
are the only ones that ever trully existed

as everything that we bled and healed for is all and all that is in our history,
the cruel battles against nothing that always did generously gift us with scars and broken bones
the nightmares the noises in the dark that always shall force my ears to the edge, to hear more,
to know everything

everything, all and nothing, you know, are my most favourite words,
I just see only the point in what is fairly dangerous
dare and say, always always and always, again, and never, never, never, always.

reach out and count to seven, wager , will your hand ever manage to reach mine?

arrhythmia is a word of my ancestors, see , now it suits me,
my heart is disagreeable and rebelious, the blood-greedy living cloth that shapes the purest of flesh
with every delayed gasp it reprimands my chest to elevate more quietly and it beggs for me not to drain her,
protesting for all the lessons that I never learned 
and all the times I held with steady hands my head well below the surface 

the water, the blue, and the heavenly, that cannot have a colour, the transparent ,that refuses to hide our skin, the deep, the deep,

sweat and semen and tears, the restless days that harbor full hours.
we shall never call each other by name, we are unearthly anyway

i wish my life is always painful

the storms, the holly heavy raindrops, the bandages and the blood,
seas of stallions and flowers, dancing in all nature,
inviting me in.

calling, singing, with the most heartbreaking of voices, howls and smoke white or ebony eyes that look like smugged brain-piercing flickers, plastic portable spotlights fixed at me, lost so long but just found from the ones meant to save me.
the ones that I dug out the ground, the mud that seperates me from my true words, from my honest decisions.

the last words are always the emptiest or I am too undecided when it comes to my answers

Δευτέρα, 26 Μαρτίου 2012

diritta via

I own a fish named Lazarus. In the mornings I call him Lazhar.
it exists lost in one vast fish tank, for half of the divided sum of a dozen human years more than it should, right in two, unaware of just how lost it is, swimming through what is water molecules, dissolved fish food left overs and its own shit and dying cells.

I turn up the volume so that i can't know my voice is working but in my own head.
screaming along with symphonic music is perfect. it has a certain biblical quality. it is the end and i am screaming.

it will never hurt as much as the shinning blade does when forcing out the cimson life that pours so willingly out of  polluted vains. similar to sucking out the poison. sucking out unwanted life. so I just smile, let's see what can hurt me now?

9 circles,
I can faintly see just the first one.
will it be the fifth or the sixth that will dispense my soul, cleanse my eyes of all impure rivers, and gift my all to oblivion.

I am the bastard child of Nyx, spreading along with all my brothers and all my sisters the sorrow and the evil darkness onto the world, dancing singing intoxicated hedonistic hymns in the superior layers of the air,
ensuring the misery in the fates of men,
creating all that gnaws on their spirits out of their cold nothingness.

the list hanging from the ceiling above my bed is too long, and I shall get started.

Lasciate ogne speranza, voi ch'intrate
Lasciate ogne speranza, voi ch'intrate

Lasciate ogne speranza, voi ch'intrate 

Τρίτη, 20 Μαρτίου 2012

the sun of each day tightens the rope around my neck
and I, I have to confess that i have been bathed in cowardice and that all that I know is weakness
and say out loud for the leaves to listen, that I am unworthy
how do the gallows sound for dinner ?

we are not to be hanged, do not fret dear,
we have the luxury of new age powder.

Only now I realise I have been ashamed of my skin for all time, and all the pretentious sentences and all the wasted brain cells have been a comfortable bittersweet nothing. My masked expressions and careful words shall always care to protect me even though now I really shouldn’t step aside.
Fire, the dammed know their essence.
The most unfaithful of all tears can come whenever they may; I see no reason in searching for the right words anymore.

Κυριακή, 18 Μαρτίου 2012

late yellow sunday midday
i enjoy closing my windows for you,  letting only the presistant light threads of yours to touch me
i cannot lose my darkness
i am far too unwilling
and i can't i can't ever see all the sundays and all afternoons
i ramble, and i shiver, but it doesn't ever show,
nothing ever really comes out of my mouth lately and i shouldn't ever doubt my choices of expression
for trully the shadow in her eyes when i tell her that we will die is so frightfull
and i mustn't look away, the shadows are my own, in all eyes, i create
and then ,thus, i conquer, 
with terrible words and cold eyes of mine, all their thoughts and sighs,
i am 
i am poison,
i know that now,
but i shall flow for those in the fate to hold the needle with the silver dark water
and i shall be cancer, and a high revelation
for all who invite me in, for i am evil but i
i know the right words and i
i am the kindest you have trully ever met
but now you will know, yes you will know too,
all is a little darkness, and when i see it, i draw it out, grow it,
one day we all shall revel in all that is pain,
and we will fear the death of misery and i 
i will know then for sure,
that i shouldn't ever have been.

O, then, I see Queen Mab hath been with you



twenty minutes ,or so, ago my big brother turned 20.
20 years in this earth is 7.300 days. that's 175.200 hours and so many countless minutes.

see, i do believe in magic.
and i believe in love like every girl in every comedy film ends up doing.

i believe in the magnificence of this world. in the magnificence in each one of us.
and every time i think about the people that i hold dear in my heart, i cry. i can't really help it. that's why i can't even mouth the words "i love you" out loud. i will fold like a piece of paper and will not stop crying for hours. love is pain.yes.i am doing all the cliches and breaking all my rules to forever be dark and gloomy and always painfully aware and saddened by all the misfortunes and vices of this world.

when pure blood is shed, and smiles stolen, the trees always remain as green as ever to remind us that we have to fight, we have to drain the poison out of our minds and out of our hearts and exorcise hate and sorrow with love and compassion. 
too cheesy?

we are not carefully chosen words. we are not kind 'hallos' and 'goodbyes'. we are not polite small talk and distanced embraces. 
we are not supposed to be cold.
and no one should ever be left alone.

we are a tiny little planet lost in the most brilliant and beautiful vastness of an even smaller galaxy when seen in a bigger scale, that fits 7 billion people. 7 billion.
 we cannot be controlled inside borders, enstranged from people beacause they don't talk the same way I or you do.

we all dance, cry, laugh, kiss, touch, hurt, love and die the exact same way.

we should live the same way. we should live together.

Δευτέρα, 12 Μαρτίου 2012

5' ATG 3'

Λοιπόν ; πως είσαι ;
δεν ξέρω, παράξενα. άσχημα παράξενα.
γιατί ;, ε μην σε αποσυντονίζει, απλά πρέπει να απαντήσω λίγο σε αυτό το μήνυμα, συνέχισε όμως, σε ακούω.
το "γιατί" είναι η πιο περιττή και κυρίως, η ποιο αγενής ερώτηση, αλλά αν δεν ρωτήσετε "γιατί" σαν κιόλας να σας ενδιαφέρει το τι θα απαντήσω, δεν πρόκειται να απαντήσω τίποτα. θα χαθώ διακριτικά στα γιατί του δικού μου μυαλού και έτσι θα σας επιτραπεί να κάνετε το ίδιο.θα καθόμαστε εδώ όση ώρα κοστίζουν σαράντα ευρώ και θα είμαστε και οι δύο χαμένες μες στο τίποτα. και θα είναι όμορφα, θα είναι η πιο ωραία ώρα της ημέρας, και για μένα, και για εσάς, γιατί όλα θα είναι χαώδη αλλά το χάος θα ανήκει σε εμάς και θα μπορούμε να διώξουμε όποιον δεν ανήκει εκεί. Για να απαντήσω στην ερώτηση,
δεν κοιμάμαι. Πριν ξαναρωτήσετε γιατί, γιατί φοβάμαι να αφήσω το μυαλό μου να χαθεί στο όμορφο χάος, γιατί αν σκεφτώ για λίγο, δεν νομίζω ότι μπορώ να σταματήσω.
δεν νομίζω ότι θα μπορέσω να ξανακοιμηθώ ποτέ..

Δευτέρα, 5 Μαρτίου 2012



God strengthen me to bear myself;
That heaviest weight of all to bear,
Inalienable weight of care.

All others are outside myself;
I lock my door and bar them out
The turmoil, tedium, gad-about.

I lock my door upon myself,
And bar them out; but who shall wall
Self from myself, most loathed of all?

If I could once lay down myself,
And start self-purged upon the race
That all must run! Death runs apace.

If I could set aside myself,
And start with lightened heart upon
The road by all men overgone!

God harden me against myself,
This coward with pathetic voice
Who craves for ease and rest and joys

Myself, arch-traitor to myself ;
My hollowest friend, my deadliest foe,
My clog whatever road I go.

Yet One there is can curb myself,
Can roll the strangling load from me
Break off the yoke and set me free.

                                                            Chistina Rossetti "Who Shall Deliver Me?"

sociable , αυτός που ισχύει μεταξύ ανθρώπων

we've been caged for so many years.

the very meaning of society is overruled by the sad and pathetic reality that people cannot find empathy inside themselves anymore. We are loveless and greedy. And that is what makes an extremely dangerous animal.

we are surplus.

thus, we sit comfortably in our chairs in front of fancy, up to date, plasma screens, watching carefully, shocked the documentary of our demise. we know about the financial recess, we know the history preceeding it. we know all about the violations of the human rights, we preach beautiful ideologies and dogmas and with our words, nail the unfaithfull, the violators, to a cross.
only with words.
because the view is just so irresistable up here from the pedestal.
everything is hollow, and therefore bound to rot from inside out.

being a person with very few years on this earth, i can recall a time when i could ostracise my desperation and anger for all the wretchedness and squalor of this world and devote my hours and my mental resources or whatever, trying to understand why, when such powerfull, meaningfull and above all, truthfull, beliefs habitated the minds of men, nothing worthy of them was being done. 
then i realized that they never trully existed in their hearts.

now, most of the times i think that, all those beliefs and noble values that have ushered us in history's greatest revolutions-political, spiritual, ethical, scientifical,- were nothing more than a placebo for our minds. trust me, there are very few people on this earth who want -need- to believe that this is not the case and that all the hopes and all this long lived faith for the realisation of "world peace" and elimination of hunger and criminality etc, etc,..are not unavailing.
however, i think it is time for me to admit, with not much bitterness -surprisingly for my faint little heart-, that all those "ideas" are θνησιγόνες, as we say in Greek, meaning, they are born to die.

i hope one day i will regret these words for they will no more be truthful for me. i really hope so, but for now, i believe in the predominance of a certain social functional -sort of- pattern, that services solely the survival of the human species. at any cost. whatever is needed for the members of a society, or a social group, stated more loosely, in order to function effectively and productively within its borders, it is given. abandoning the cautiousness of my words so far as to avoid the disturbance of sensitive subjects, what i mean is, the idea of God, of every deity for that matter, serves a certain purpose, the idea of the human rights as well. this, however, does not in any case make them true. we tell children of an existing old bearded man, dressed in red that comes every Christmas bearing gifts and of every fairy tale in our books to make the world a better place, a more interesting place for the little ones among us who have no care whatsoever for economics, politics and social gossip. when they grow up enough, we have to tell them, that there isn't really a Santa, and that all fairy tales are imaginary, God forbid we actually speak of what they really are, lies. we only tell kids of fairies, saints and superheroes so that they can sleep quietly at night.

i come to the last thing i want to say, that everything has exactly the meaning that we attribute to it. there are things that mean the world to me but are more than just indifferent to someone else. and that is perfectly acceptable, because it cannot be any other way. but such a thing eliminates every possibility of our world ever existing in harmony, in accordance.

in all honestly, lately my mind always reaches the edges of everything and magnifies all thoughts into mental torrents that tend to grant me with a nihilistic view of things. i will ask all my questions again in 3 months and i shall equate the results.
until then, goodnight,
I wish I did not spread too much misery on the internet.

we go in circles

i am the voice inside your head telling you nothing will ever be alright

Σάββατο, 3 Μαρτίου 2012

the more you scream the more you ask of fear to stay

"Αν το απολαμβάνω;"
Πρακτικά δεν ήταν ερώτηση.
Μετατόπισε λίγο το κεφάλι της στο πλάι, με απορία, κοιτώντας τον σαν να μην μπορούσε να κάνει αλλιώς, σαν να μαγνήτιζε το βλέμμα της εν άγνοια του, και παρόλο που ίσως θα έπρεπε να κοιτάξει αλλού δεν μπορούσε.
"Αν επιλέγω να σκέφτομαι έτσι;"

"Γιατί λες κάτι τέτοιο;" 
Δεν χρειαζόταν να ρωτήσει, ήξερε την απάντηση. Το ζήτημα ήταν αν την ήξερε και αυτός.

"Σε ένα άθλιο βιβλίο αυτοβοήθειας διάβασα κάτι για "νοητική προβολή". Κάποιες μέρες, όταν συγκεντρώνω τα μάτια μου σε μια γωνία του δωματίου, βλέπω στο μυαλό μου κάποιον που μοιάζει λίγο σαν και εμένα, αλλά κάπως διαφορετικό, σαν να, δεν ξέρω, να εμπνέει μια αλλότρια φυσιογνωμία, να με κοιτάζει. Όχι, όχι! δεν με κοιτάζει καν, κοιτά το πάτωμα λες και κάποιος από πίσω του πιέζει το σβέρκο του να λυγίσει μέχρι να μην πάει άλλο. Αλλά θα ορκιζόμουν ότι με κοιτάει, έχω την εντύπωση ότι με κοιτάει.. δεν ξέρω, τέλος πάντων, στο πίσω μέρος του κεφαλιού του έχει ένα αποκρουστικό λεκέ αίματος. Ξεραμένο, πολύ αίμα. Δεν φαίνεται να πονάει, δεν βλέπω και πολύ το πρόσωπό του, κοιτάω το αίμα. Κάθε φορά που κοιτάω είναι πιο πολύ από ότι ήταν την προηγούμενη φορά. Ακόμα πιο πηχτό και πολύ και είναι δηλητήριο, ξέρω ότι είναι δηλητήριο. Μετά δεν βλέπω τίποτα πια μα όταν το σκέφτομαι δεν μπορώ πάντα να θυμηθώ πως ακριβώς ήταν η πληγή, η οποία παρόλα αυτά τώρα μου αποσπά την προσοχή, και σκέφτομαι ότι ο τύπος είναι εντάξει, δεν έχει φάτσα, δηλαδή,, δεν βλέπω τα χαρακτηριστικά του προσώπου του, φαντάζομαι όμως ότι γέρνει τελικά το κεφάλι πίσω και μου χαμογελάει. Δηλαδή, δεν μου χαμογελάει, περισσότερο ένα σατανικό κάπως χαμόγελο, σαν να μου λέει κάτι το οποίο ξέρω αλλά δεν μπορώ συνειδητά να ξέρω, κάτι το οποίο είναι φριχτό, ένα έγκλημα που διέπραξε και εγώ ήμουν ο συνεργός."


η ώρα είναι άδεια, και ακατάλληλη. Φτιάχνω καφέ. Η απάντηση στα πάντα είναι μια ζεματιστή κούπα καφέ. Ο μαθηματικός μου λέει οτι η απάντηση στα πάντα είναι ουίσκι, τσιγάρα και μια άσκηση μαθηματικών αλλά γνώσεις σαν και αυτή δεν θέλω να τις καταχραστώ απο τώρα, θέλω να περιμένω μέχρι την ημέρα που τα μαθηματικά θα με φωνάξουν να τους κάνω παρέα, μέχρι τότε, δεν βρίσκω λόγο να τα ενοχλώ.
 Πίνω πάρα, μα πάρα, πολύ καφέ τελευταία. Κάθε μέρα δύο φλιτζάνια καφέ και ίσως μια κούπα τσάι. Και είμαι πτώμα. Οι μισές σκέψεις μου κατά την διάρκεια της ημέρας γνέφουν με νόημα στον Μορφέα, και περιμένουν μέχρι το βράδυ, κρατώντας ζωντανό το φλερτ κλείνοντας που και που τα μάτια μου. Αλλά η νύχτα είναι τόσο όμορφη. Κλέινω τα φώτα μου, ανοίγω τα παράθυρα και τις κουρτίνες και κοιτάω τα μικρά θολά φωτάκια που παλεύουν να δραπετεύσουν από τα παράθυρα των γειτόνων μου. Παλιότερα, πέρναγα ώρες πλάθοντας όλα τα πιθανά και αρκετά απίθανα σενάρια του ποιοι μπορεί να κρύβονται πίσω από τις κουρτίνες των άλλων σπιτιών, που πηγαίνουν οι άνθρωποι μέσα στα αυτοκίνητα που περνούν την γέφυρα, απέναντι από το σπίτι μου.  
Ξαφνικά σκέφτομαι, δεν έχω τι άλλο να πω.
Ίσως... Όχι.
Ακούω στο ραδιόφωνο metal zone εκπομπή. Είναι εξωπραγματικά και ανησυχητικά καθησυχαστικό!
Ο καφές τελείωσε και πρέπει, πρέπει να πάω για ύπνο, να μεταφέρω τα άπειρα στρώματα από σκεπάσματα, κουβέρτες και σεντόνια μου από το, τόσο καιρό μίζερα ακατοίκητο, κρεβάτι του αδερφού μου, πίσω στο δικό μου.
  Χμ, αυτό το post θυμίζει επικίνδυνα entry ημερολογίου. Δεν είμαι σίγουρη για το πώς νιώθω για αυτήν την εξέλιξη.
Το καλοκαίρι θα πάω σε metal συναυλίες, θα κάνω ηλιοθεραπεία στην ταράτσα μου, θα πάω Κρήτη, θα πάω Ιταλία, θα πάω στο χωριό, θα γίνω εθελόντρια στην ελληνική ορνιθολογική εταιρία, θα ζωγραφίσω τα αγάλματα στο μουσείο της ακρόπολης, θα περάσω δύο ολόκληρες μέρες έξω, δεν θα κοιμηθώ για τρεις μέρες, θα πάω κάθε τρεις μέρες στον κινηματογράφο, θα διαβάσω βιβλία ανθρωπολογίας και θεωρητικής φυσικής.
Μετά θα βάλω στην μεγάλη μου μπλε βαλίτσα όλα μου τα μάλλινα κασκόλ, την αγαπημένη μου μπλούζα και το μπλε ελεκτρίκ παντελόνι μου, έξι βιβλία, και ένα καινούργιο ipod 160 GB- κλασσικά φισκαρισμένο με μουσική που θα ήθελα τουλάχιστον μια ζωή να ακούσω-, κάποιες παλιές φωτογραφίες να κολλήσω στον καθρέφτη του μπάνιου της εστίας, τα δαχτυλίδια μου σε ένα μικρό κουτί, πολλά πολλά τετράδια moleskine να γράφω τα κέρατα και τις νευρώσεις μου μέσα, τις μουντζούρες μου και τις κενές μου σελίδες, μια παλιά nikon της θρυλικής εποχής των 00's, σε ένα post it τον ταχυδρομικό κώδικα του σπιτιού μου στην Αθήνα, και το ασυμμάζευτο μυαλό μου.
Και θα φύγω, πολυαγαπημένο άδοξο ημερολόγιο.
Θα κάνω 'α μπε μπα μπλομ' και θα διαλέξω Γερμανία ή Σκωτία και μετά ξανά, Χαΐδελβέργη, Μόναχο, Δρέσδη ή Γλασκόβη ή Αμπερντήν.

Αυτά. Τώρα όμως δεν θέλω να το σκέφτομαι πια.