No Camera

Another sad sick movie

Posted in Dreamland by ION on 19/11/2008

I am lowering my head at things I don’t understand, hooding my green eyes like some bird of prey, apparently, not like most of us; it’s a seasonal thing I think, that hits me like an A minor chord, starting on the fifth, reflecting that the whole power behind my mental drive rests upon impotence, slowly spreading stains over a tortured memory lane, unable to explain even to myself. Things are clearer on the real side. And winter comes slowly; I need it like oxygen when I explore the skies, so much as this π scar on my wrist, the emotion, the love of that late winter day, full of animated tendencies and good people as company.

“Do you read me?”

So, then, I think I’ll go for a walk, jump high and then vanish in the night sky of your playful mind, like a tourbillion firework or like an image that we rejected from last summer in Syros, no rain to even whisper sweet nothings to us while we end, just driving, driving, driving in the dark, on an unknown highway. Will you wake me up for New Year’s Eve party? What will remain after a sad waltz? Maybe my head moving slowly, going side to side in reflection of the start of the year.

I’m thinking of this man who continuously breaks his legs, suffering from being trapped in a basement, somewhere in a crystal palace, maybe this man is me. Alice comes and visit me from time to time. We party, we feed the ants with Jameson drops and then we fall asleep. When she leaves I receive sex in a blood-stained envelope thrown in my face like the bundle of discarded bones a butcher throws to the dogs. It’s well worth it for the fun, but as far as flora goes there are no flowers in my basement.

“Then why come back?”

Life has no edges. On windy mornings you can sometimes see the ether. So let me draw you a more earthly picture, no savage experiments on b/w corpses, no hear damaging by eerie feedback, just a vast landscape filled with an ongoing desire for solitude, yes it’s a nerve thing, I know, reminds me what the nurse once said, “Just good words you can give to her”, so what’s that supposed to mean? How the fuck do you want me to increase my soul? How the fuck do you want me near? Cut in pieces, slice after slice after slice, in different universes or inside a package, wrapped with a vermilion ribbon? Who knows! You can even market me off as a new post postmodern enlightenment.

Later on I’ll take on the night, me in a car, drive a few hundred kilometers, crash upon a few hundred gray shadows, and finally die to the moons windy tickle. I move slowly, mostly not moving at all, waiting, breathing, gazing at the b/w avatar of a suspended relation, hanging over my head, head with a mask, my fingers shaking on the steering wheel, now it all comes on me, like one million camera flashlights shooting synchronized right into my eyes, now it’s me who wants to puke on your fingers as I feel my last tears begin to flow.

I’m yours, so now eat me_

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3 Responses

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  1. etta said, on 20/11/2008 at 5:35 pm

    Dear Giannis,
    I go to my “day” job each afternoon with a similar set of ambiguities…i’d be lost save this grace–the flight of birds. Those affirmations that thrill me most, aside from a string of green lights, are birds of prey that frequent the area. The overflight of an eagle, a perching hawk, or the quick dip of a kestrel or falcon lift up my beaten down soul and remind me of a superior order of Nature. It doesn’t happen every day, but even the ravens provide respite. I count them like crows, study their flight, read their signs and sympathies. This is life, isn’t it. Your black and white images are windows, looking in and out. I never tire of them…
    ~etta

  2. etta said, on 15/12/2008 at 7:45 pm

    Dear Giannis,
    I quit that ambiguous job only a few days later. This had been predicted with all precision by said birds of prey. Now, after a couple weeks respite, i read your blog with eyes connected to a rested mind. Your words in Another Sad Sick Movie are keenly seen. Obviously this job and i didn’t make love, so there was no ripping sound when we separated…though i shredded pulp out of it for a few days.

    I see now that my comment was random, and i honestly don’t remember what i was thinking, except what i wrote.

    The impact in your words
    spoke to something more
    than birds.
    Please forgive me for bringing the wrong wine to this feast!
    thanx, ~etta

  3. maja said, on 27/12/2008 at 7:26 pm

    i would like to leave a reply to etta, due to my bad tendency to overrun my mouth i have brought something more than a bad wine to her, i brought her misery and i could only begin to see how and why.
    there it all was, a mess and the will to sweep it, but no results.
    since i hate it that the things were left like that, since i do not feel that there is a good reason for that to be going on, since the huge misunderstanding sits between the two, i lay my thoughts here in hope that they reach her.

    life doesn’t work just like that,
    life requires more and more of work,
    life is about the voyage of traveling the life,
    what else is there ?
    even the birds sing in non harmony sometimes,
    and then they drop it, laugh about it all and forget about it,
    till the next time, and the next.

    we all have disturbance in our calm waters, and no way out of its ripples and depth, my regret sits in a pound and wishes to flow into a river, to be dipped inna big blue ocean and feel free for knowing that it has reached the other side, the harbour of etta’s home.

    best regards


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