FANTASTIC

Fantastic is not a word I any longer use.
It lost its meaning when the fantasy was gone.
Gone and lost, like a mobile phone, like the one that slipped
from the pocket of your coat
and oh, that night, I was so mobile.

White wine kept on pouring
emptying my head from any consciousness
leading to a state of euphoria
but you were not having a good week.
I was, but its importance was lost.
Seeing you was a sign from hell,
the tears I kept and the smiles I faked
I hope they reach the point of no return.

Imaginary kisses void of pleasure
like knifes, stabbing a butterfly in my stomach,
and I, I cannot regret enough
the time I had spent dreaming.

Fantastic is a word I ban and detest
the word that used to make me shiver
the word that was used to describe me.
I will no longer kiss, I will now keep on dreaming
of the next ray of light coming from a country
where it snows less.
A promise I make, no, he will not like hockey
he, the next sign of hope in my dream, and no,
no dates by the river
but meaningful words – no empty words
he will not be caressing my hair.

I will mourn for a quarter of an hour.
Then, I will stand on my feet
being so fantastic and mobile
I will move on.

A story of a kiss

The story of a kiss is a story better not told. A story which resembles not of fairy tales; a grown ups reality perhaps. The story goes untold, because it cannot be described. The feelings of passion, agony, happiness, numbness, even pain, sweet pain, dreadful pain, all feelings that can be felt. Not a kind of knowledge to be communicated to other people, not even to oneself.

It is a catharsis. It is personal. It is lust. It may be nothing.
It may last. It may be forgotten. Maybe the images of the scenery will prevail. Or, merely feelings. The surrounding smells.

Sometimes the better stories are of kisses that did not occur. Vivid in one’s imagination, recalled during sleep. Or a boring seminar; while sitting on the train? Maybe.

But I will certainly remember the story I have just narrated. The one I have not described. The whole experience of the kiss in question was a passing feeling of something I cannot possibly name. Just two seconds, possibly three. It lasted that much, but it was strong. There was certainly a lot of passion in it. Intense it was.

The kiss has only happened in my imagination. I will treasure its memory. I am happy, I am pleased. No complications and no issues to be discussed.

It was a pure kiss.

Tilegrafima

Den exo internet. Teleia. Kleisto mexri neoteras eidopoiiseos. Teleia. Ektos an variemai poli kai paro svarna olous tous xorous me wireless. Teleia.

Gkrinies

Agapimeno mou blog,

to ksero pos exeis varethei na akous gkrinies, alla ta leo se esena gia na min ksespaso se athoous.
I pio prosfati aformi einai pou katafera na arrostiso tin pio akatallili stigmi. Perno antiviosi, pino kafedes gia na antistathmiso tin ipnilia, cocktail vitaminon kai ximous gia na dinamoso ton organismo mou. Alla o piretos epimenei ki ego prepei epitelous na telioso ekeino to dissertation. Episis varethika na kano 4-5 ntous tin mera, den prolavenoun oi petsetes na stegnosoun kai den tha mou meinei derma apo to tripse-tripse. To kerasaki stin tourta einai pou apopse giortazei o sigkatoikos mou ta genethlia tou. Sovara prepei na ntitho/ktenisto/vafto gia na pao sto party gia misi ora? Am de! Stin katastasi mou, eimai ikani na pao me ton sindiasmo pitzames-gialakia. Ase pou simera mou xei spasei ta nevra me tin kithara kai exo tin mousiki terma gia na min akouo. Thelei na paiksei kithara? ok, no problem. Alla as paiksei kanena tragoudaki, giati prepei na kanei tosi eksaskisi stis sigxordies?
Den tha prepe tora na eimai sto krevataki mou kai na koimamai? Antitheta, exo metakomisei to laptop kai ta vivlia PANO sto krevati kai grafo.
Telos, den exo xrono na kano alla xatiria stis files mou. Gia dio meres thelo na kanoun ekeines ta dika mou. Zito polla?

Eyxaristo gia tin katanoisi,
mia arrosti kataskopos.

Diavazo...

Just for the record, simera sigirisa/katharisa...