Η επιβράδυνση σε ροή

Το χειρότερο μέρος της μοναξιάς
έχει συμβεί στην ζωή σου
και ονομάζεται μιζέρια·δεν ντύνεται
δεν περπατά
μα ούτε και ξαπλώνει.
Έχει μια και μόνο συμβολική τάση,
την αξιοπρέπεια του χρόνου σου να θίξει.
Κι αν δε νιώσεις θιγμένος προσωπικά
από τη μιζέρια αυτή
και από όλους τους τρόπους του κόσμου και τις αντανακλάσεις αυτού
καλύτερα θα ήταν
να ήσουν νωρίς νεκρός.

second blog

http://kopirait.wordpress.com/

Centimetre

[the pattern of "the good-old-days"]

Well, this pattern is widely over-used by people.
We encounter a time problem.
People are used to image time
(people have the tremendous need to picture everything "not tangible" as "tangible")
as a road line or even a ruler.
They can feel that the ruler-level 1 or 2 is different from 10 or 23
but they don't know the difference
they don't speak about it.
1 to 10
or 2 to 23
there are cm between these spots
there goes the difference•
You're the cm
and you expand or minimize the lasting ruler.
And there goes my difference
among you in plural•
You're just feeling time
like it's passing
and changes the world
But I'm expanding my time
so as I can meet every centimeter of me.

Not a saddy one.

[Sadness]
She's experiencing a different kind of sadness
somehow it introduces her to everything and everyone with a gesture
which you'll find awkward or even anti-normal
but sexy enough.
I bet you'll find it enhacing to over-cloud her sadness
with gestures of caring
and with gestures of thousand affairs
but she'll be only there to smoke a few times before you'll notice she'll be gone.
She's all these magnetic-ending songs
you sing in your car
or even in an underground bar.
And forever she chooses this kind of self
and she fuckin'-for-sure knows,
she deserves more than a love-poem.

1-1

Οσο κι αν αγαπας το ρεαλισμο σου
δες ποσο περιεργα θα ερωτευτεις ο,τι σε αποκοβει εμμεσα απο αυτον.

Pattern of sex

We shall always be thirsty
we shall always be worried
and alerted when there's no sign of you in the subliminal metro•
and amazed with the blue.
We shall always want intense sex
in dreams you recall what culture vanishes with a lyrical song
and food and drink we shall want
and a room to cry and share happiness with time ticking-a-tick
and the love we shall always seek for, the kind of the one our family wasn't able to give us away.
She says, come and love
love and come.

actually, nothing.

What is the point of a relationship generally
if we haven't ever cried together in a late-late dark-night-room?