27 July 2016, 2155

A year ago, I lost… That was my first loss, in truth and in essence, not superficially or materially. The world lost. But I don’t give a flying fuck about the world. You had your chance. This is about me. I lost someone truly irreplaceable. Inimitable; and priceless. It took me very little time to accept the loss. It will take the rest of my life to grieve. I will never forget (but I will…) I will never let go (but I will…) I will never move on (but I will…) I will never smile again (but I will…) I will never lose again (but I will…) I will never love again (but I will…) I will go insane (but I won’t…) I will always mourn (but I won’t…) I will always be alone (but I won’t…) I will but I won’t…. I won’t but I will… This was the hardest, most comprehensive lesson and the most precious gift… Parenthood is learning to let go. Maturity is learning to lose and coping with loss. I miss you so much, but you are always there. Omnipotent and transcendent as ever and always. Defiant and stubborn. Hard as nails in the coffin which you wisely opted out off. Particles of wisdom, essence of the universe, called back to your rightful place in that sphere and realm that you came from… My biggest adversary, whom I never wanted to beat; my best friend whom I never wanted to loose; my only advisor whom I can never replace; the one of two of my vulnerabilities. But I am you. And you are in me. So we carry on. We continue to grace this world with our presence. I am free. You set me free - violently. In the only way you knew. Calculative and instinctively. Combative. Absolute. Demanding. Logical. Analytical. Protective. Yet so soft and fragile, loving and caring that only once one knew did it make sense. And it’s scary; but I am you. And I will not stop, for no reason, let alone because of fear. I will stand and fight; like I always did. Till the very bittersweet end. And I will look in the mirror of my soul before I decide to go and be proud, with no regrets. Just like you taught me. And I will win. And I will find you. And I will be proud when I meet you again to tell you my story, from where you left it. And we will argue and fight again, like we did; for nothing – just because we could. We will be one again. But not if I can help it. You will have to fight for it. Nothing is entitled in this world. I dare you.

Antimatter

Matter… energy. Atoms colliding with each other in an eternal and infinite journey to nowhere. Is that a purposeful design or a mastermind move from an architect with too much insight into the engineering of the soul? Thinking about it only makes it worse. Experiencing it makes it intoxicating, addicting, resulting to more fascination and obsession. Damned if you will, damned if you don’t. Who ever said that intelligence, cognitive, emotional or any other type for that matter, is a good thing then I claim that they didn’t know what they were talking about. Movement. The only constant for some. The stuff of nightmares for others. Where did I go wrong? Where did I miss the trick and so many beats as a result of that? Stillness. So tantalising and yet so torturous that is in fact a great achievement to master it. I yearn for the simplicity and duality of the yin and the yang, the purity in the fallacy. Look around you… movement has turned from a blessing to a curse. Stillness a status so hard to attain. A confused and altered way of seeing things, a state of conflict that hides behind peace… Boundaries… Set for one and one reason only, to provoke crossing. Rules. To entice breaking. The law of relativity has won. The tool became better than the fool. So much so that tool controls the fool and the fool proclaims that the tool is the salve. Confused. Sanctuary? Safety? Security? What are these, where are they, who can provide them? Do you know why you want these things? Do you even know what you want? Looking for coherency… Well… it’s all around us. Palpable. It’s just not my size… whose fault is that? Why do I care, and above all when did it happen? What happened to me? But more important… how do I cope going forward? Even with time travel, we still won’t know the way to unlearn something…. Salvation. If there is such a thing… Perhaps praying to an unforgiving and cruel deity will yield results. Perhaps for you, alas for me there are none

e(-)motions

What is it exactly that generates emotions?
What makes emotions the ruling and dictating factor of lives?
What forces the output of emotions to be the paramount purpose for existence?

So many around me exist, thrive, succeed, fail, impress – like a shooting star does when you manage to get a glimpse of its trajectory, proving true once again to our vile nature by wishing for something against the death of a star – and perish.

Complicated words, complex behaviors, convoluted texts, an overflow of facts, data, theories and opinions, beliefs and wishes, all rushing down on the sponge that is humanity, attempting to impress, to stand out with a known, planned lifespan of a glimpse.

And we absorb, all of it… so fast and so much that it is impossible to keep up with it, so we retain nothing.

I am baffled. I once dreamt of writing. I now dread the prospect of ever getting around to do it. Not because there would be no room or no point for such an action but because of the imminent oblivion.

Transient is the name of the game today, and the root source of the problem. Nothing is here to stay, so nothing is well and thoroughly done. It’s here today, was there yesterday, it will be gone tomorrow; if it reaches the sky great. If not, it falls without a marked difference; but with or without one, it will fall….

Like emotions; they come, they cause havoc, they may or may not make a difference and they disappear. And then… then they are forgotten, making space for a new set, a new cycle.

How odd…

You begin…
You develop…
You dream…
You plan…
You act…
You fail…
You try again…
You fail…
You change approach…
You act…
You fail…
You try again…
You succeed…
You forgot why you tried in the first place…
You regret…
You change tack…
You act…
You fail…
You wander what’s the point…
You try again…
You succeed…
You don't care…
You keep trying…
You forget…
You keep trying…
You regret…
You keep trying…
You realize…
You accept…
You die…

A sinking feeling is filling me…

As I drive into beautiful Edinburgh and make my way to the hotel, I am overwhelmed by my own thoughts…

I look around, and the city is basking under the sun; rare as it may be, it is as beautiful and breathtaking as any sunny, beach resort. The impressive, yet natural mix of medieval buildings with modern touches grasps me; sending my soul to stories of old and my mind to wanders of new…

An old man, well in his sixties is standing tall, in a kilt outside the hotel…
Every breath you take by the Police is playing on the radio; every time I listen to this song I become nostalgic and reminiscent…

I dare ask him for directions, of all things I can’t find the parking. He gently and soothingly talks to me, in a deep Scottish accent and a deep gurgling voice. I cannot but smile and think that he is a man of patience and knowledge… I feel even worse about myself, and my choices…

As I park, I wander what else I have missed; how many more opportunities have I lost, whatever other wander have I overlooked in my monotonous and limited approach to life?

A group is glancing at me, and yet again I feel my age, more cumbersome than it should, worse than it is, yet in full effect. It is not my perception that is wrong; it is my interpretation that messes the balance. They smile, and I wander if it is a pleased or a mocking smile. Dwell not; move on…

I almost have tears in my eyes. The energy of this beautiful country always gets me. And it always reminds me that I am weak and that I have lost…

I go to my hotel room. A posh, semi luxurious room, smelling nice, clean and surprisingly dry… As I look out of the window of the room, a rotten feeling, a sinking sensation of despair grasps my soul.

I am laughing as I observe the lock on the window room; apparently, under corporate social responsibility, the hotel cannot have anyone committing suicide and risking the lawsuit of a fall from an un-attending window!

I hate all, everything and above all myself. I am exactly what is wrong in this world.

Someone that knows, understands, can make a difference yet chooses to be part of the system hiding behind the pretexts of “resource” constraints, lack of ability to sustain without the system’s embrace and worse of all, someone with no faith…

I guess they were right, the window was a good idea…

once upon a time...

Once upon a time, I had a dream… or at least I think I had one…

In fact, I am pretty sure I had many dreams…

As time passed, I struggled to realize the fact that it is extremely unhealthy to have such things. You run the risk of developing critical thinking and then you know what follows… You reject being institutionalized, you rebel, you form your own opinion, you talk back to those that know better for you than you do and other such obscene and ludicrous behaviors… And that leads to alternative behaviors, leads to stress, leads to doubts, leads to rejection and other nice fat titles…

Nonetheless, I maintained the illusion of having dreams. I opposed the notion that I would – as so many before me – fall prey to the machine and its system. I fought back! I attacked! I defended… I won a few, lost a few, but in the end, it was pretty much a draw… But as with any struggle, any fight… it is never about how good you are, how big you are, how mean you are or anything…

It’s all about how many of you are there… I found out the hard way that numbers win, not the best, not the right or righteous, not the wrong, not the good, nor the evil – there are no such things… Only numbers… She who controls the numbers controls the fate… If 1000 of you fuckers say that black is white, and 900 of them fuckers say the opposite, you will have a stand still… for a while… eventually though, the prevailing opinion will be that of the many… and then the argument will be forgotten, and you will move on… and so on… Until next time someone comes along with a new statement….

Only problem is, that I had a dream… and my dream did not want numbers nor did it entail them…it only wanted peace and quiet. Isolation. Independence. Nature. Trees. Animals. Freedom. And apparently, my dream was a threat to something. Because the effort invested to stop that dream from happening is a shock.

Nature got annihilated; freedom got suppressed and controlled with any means necessary. Independence became a trading commodity. Animals became a spectacle, killed when they dared to look back or claim their own – their habitats wiped out, their skins turned to luxury goods, their bones turned to powders for a limp dick bastard or for curing a diseased fucker, their teeth and claws symbols of virility and strength of the mighty hunter (apparently shooting an animal from 1km away with a high velocity sniper rifle is a true and mighty indication of strength and cunning) – and commercialized as soon as a hint of benefit or control via them (protecting them for example), surfaced. Isolation is either a luxury of few or a punishment of many – again, depending on what prevails at the time…

I gave up my dream. I lost it amidst the marketing campaign that surfaced, telling me that a new cause has arisen, needing my contribution… Please donate here to show your support….

Tell me, oh mighty, ruling and dominant species of the earth, dare you release a pack of wolves, a pride of lions and a couple of panthers in the midst of one of your mighty cities, take away the guns and let the score be settled fair and square?

I have a new dream now… I dream of the annihilation of the human species, the greatest of plagues and the most incurable virus of them all… But like all dreams, I am positive that it will be commercialized, exploited and twisted in its own way…

Time and time again...

(Written in August 1999, during a lucid moment of sanity, before one of the most violent moments in my life so far that changed perceptions and repositioned several bones, feelings and opinions in a rather violent way… proposed soundtrack Pantera – Drag the Waters)

Things are repeating, in an endless loop…

Delusions…disillusions…
An endless vicious circle, than hurts the most when you fall under the fallacy of thinking and eventually believing that you escaped it…

Fear… it grasps your very soul, sucking your energy, your hopes your dreams. But you never know it is there before it is too late.

You keep things hidden for a reason, but that reason is always wrong when expressed and confronted and no matter the intention or the goal, it hurts like grasping a two edged sword… and when it is violently jerked free of your grasp, you look at the gushing cuts and the spurting blood in awe, never before realizing that pain can be so liberating…

As you leave your fading moment of connection to the living, you remember only the good things… this is why pain and death are liberating… Because like it or not, it makes you remember and think of the good things you experienced…

And here I come, demonizing your good times, your pleasant memories, your loving thoughts….

A harbinger of misery and truth, of pain and freedom… a harbinger that you though you wanted to see all your life and at the crucial moment of confrontation you are tormented from the realization and acceptance of reality….

You will suffer…. You will hurt… You will remember…. And you will cry…

All in the hope of redemption…
All in the hope of exaltation…
All in vain…

I am coming… I am furious… I am angry… I am violent… I am fair… I will hurt you only as much as you deserve, and I will receive only what you are right and deserve to dish out… I have only one message for you…

Leave… or suffer and learn. Either way… I am coming.

Are writing and typing the same?

Type: write (something) on a typewriter or computer by pressing the keys
Write: mark (letters, words, or other symbols) on a surface, typically paper, with a pen, pencil, or similar implement

I proclaim they are not… Typing is a means, a medium to express ones view…

Writing, though, is a completely different story. Although it can serve the same purpose – and more often than not, it does – it is also a method of depositing one’s soul. Any if it is even further defined as being the writing on paper or other means based on natural origin resources, then it is a way to apportion all the sins and abuse we have inflicted.

True, you may be experiencing the same range of emotions whilst typing as you would be doing whilst writing, but when all is said and done, there is nothing but soulless characters arranged in a set way… No traces of those emotions…

Write and cry, I will see the teardrop, the spot it fell a testament of the importance and the overwhelm…
Write and smoke, I will see the residue of ashes and the impact of the smoke on the letters, the stopping of the tremor and the flow in your handwriting, the relaxation effect of the nicotine in your body and your soul…
Write and eat, I will see the testaments of your appetite, the crumbles and the spots of your gluttony…
Write and experience an orgasm, I will see the lines and the peaks, the hedonistic climax and the gradual loss of control…
Write in anger, I will see your hate in the depth of your lines, as you punish the paper instead…
Write in pain, and I will know who caused it though your pressure points and via your fainting courage whilst you transfer it on paper…

Write and I will know you, type and I will know words. Your choice!

Ludicrous

I wish I was...

I wish my life wasn't...

I wish you weren't...

I wish I didn't wish!

Dead end...

Look at me now. I am broken. Mentally and physically. But I still endure, the immense pain and pressure applied.

I spit on your dreams and principles and chose to retain my own. Filled with honor and ethics, principles that are obscure and skewed, saturated with vices and imperfections, they still remain higher and purer than yours.

You are rags; remnants of the use from a butcher attending a parturient woman, forcing a vile miscarriage and you are treated as such, day in day out. Deprived to the extreme of any meaningful aspect of life and living, mandated to live in a certain manner.

I am broken. I no longer chose to survive, not in your world. I despise you, your principles, your priorities and above all, your lies and deceptions. You dare think that I cannot see through them because I no longer choose to act against them. I cannot find peace; I now know that.

The dream is gone, fading as the time slips and drains through my fingers, agonisingly slow and granular, each grain gone a chance forgotten and an opportunity missed. I can no longer remember what I fought for. Alone, I stand and gaze around. Units in isolation look back at me, with a question, a query all over their face and deep in their eyes. Few, and far in between, as if strategically and tactically based from a master setter, purposely disrupting the flow of the trend, essentially being, and through their existence re-enforcing what they hate, by being alone.

Another dead end.

I see that; I feel the need to coil everyone around a pole of gravity… only to realise that we are firmly planted in our position, carefully weighted down with mundane and meaningless worries and constraints. Like quick sand, our trap is ingenious. We move to complain, to protest, to oppose and stand up against our demons, in an attempt to survive and escape our wrongly perceived reality. And in doing so, we further plant our selves deeper in the clutches of our trap.

A master trap.; a perverse conception of a mastermind with a planning horizon far deeper than most can even consider it exists. I feel like I am in a maze. And there is nothing worse than knowing you are in a maze; all you do then is trying to find the way out.

Bullet…

I walked to the center of the square… Filled with people as usual, tourists walking around, trigger happy and full of readiness, eager not to miss a single instance of their magnificent visit to this metropolis. I still look at them in disbelief. I am still puzzled by the fact; I always hear how I am just used to it… But I never had this; I can never understand it and I can never see the joy in it. I never expected what would come next.

Right there, right in the middle of that busy square, jam packed with crowds – some deserving to live, some deserving annihilation – I stood, and I started chanted. A mystical, deep, regurgitating chant, filled with sinister messages and primordial fears. As if by instinct, the mass formed a clearance around me, continuing their business as usual. I got lost in the chanting, and I lost track of time. When I next opened up my eyes, I could feel something cold touching my forehead.

A weird creature, a mixture of human genes with those of a rat, stood in front of me pointing a gun to my forehead. I should have felt something; fear, anger, stress, panic, something. Void. Nothing. Emptiness. I stared back at him; he mumbled something that I was unable to comprehend. I continued to chant, looking back into his face. I observed a strain in his face, looked at a magnificent transformation and heard the click before I felt a cold sting on my forehead…

There and then, my problems have been resolved, as a result of upsetting an average humanoid specimen during its touristy stroll…

Left alive...

Gushing wounds all over my body, blood dripping to a soaked ground filled with remorse, despair, anger, regret and pride...

Pain is there as well...

But no memory... as always, I am left wandering... is this my blood? I hope it is the blood of my enemies...

It turns out that it is the blood of my friends.

Doesn't say much about me; I wander if it says anything about my friends.

Was it a fight of support?
Was it a fight of dissagreement?
Was I too late?
Was I the cause?

Does it matter?

Left alone to fend for what I love and like, only to realise that I don't have something to love and cling on to other than a pair of blue rays pointed at me, defying my nature and my very existence.

Defiance... what a rare and thrilling emotion.

I will destroy everything and everyone that will come between me and my dreams...

Too bad that the only thing that is between is myself...

Soundgarden Outshined Lyrics

Song writer Chris Cornell

I got up feeling so down
I got off being sold out
I've kept the movie rolling
But the story's getting old now

I just looked in the mirror
Things aren't looking so good
I'm looking California
And feeling Minnesota

So now you know, who gets mystified
Show me the power child
I'd like to say
That I'm down on my knees today

It gives me the butterflies
Gives me away
Till I'm up on my feet again
I'm feeling outshined

Someone let the dogs out
They'll show you where the truth is
The grass is always greener
Where the dogs are shedding

I'm feeling that I'm sober
Even though I'm drinking
I can't get any lower
Still I feel I'm sinking

So now you know who gets mystified
Show me the power child
I'd like to say
That I'm down on my knees today

It gives me the butterflies
Gives me away
Till I'm up on my feet again
I'm feeling outshined

Trees

The wind racing through the leaves carries secrets…

The leaves store those secrets, archiving them, transforming them to dirty little bombs of fear and uncertainty and then they send them to their roots, hiding them, keeping them safe, ready to be used and passed on to whoever is willing to listen…

But trees don’t gossip, don’t blackmail, don’t sell out… they just are…

It is humans who do though; and how jealous they are that they don’t have those secrets at hand…

So they plot… they envy… they loath…

Is that why humans attack trees, I wander?

Is that why humans chop and trim and kill and maim the trees, unprovoked, full of hostility, filled with hatred and jealousy?

Is that why humans burn them alive and dead?

I guess so…

I walk through the trees, and they sing to me…

I walk through the trees and they show me what they do with the light, the soil, the water…

They let me see how they use the light, to make colours, to paint pictures, to give birth to life…

They let me climb on them, play, hide, live, asking nothing in return…

They let me take what I need from them, with no complaint or resistance, and they nurture what I took away so it will grow back again, free for me to take with respect and love…

When I stand long enough and listen closely, I can hear them cry, and I want to cry…. And I do…

I hear their stories for their friends that held little human children in their branches, nurtured them and gave them playgrounds and memories to grow up with… and I hear their tears, screams and anguish, filled with pain and terror as the same bastard child grew to be a man, a human, and armed itself with chainsaws, tractors, tools, vicious tools, designed to hurt and plunder came back to take that same tree down, taking and not giving back anything in return…

I hear and feel the pain, the resentment and the agony, accompanied with despair and futility…

And I want to kill all humans.

Rollercoaster...

After the slow ascend comes the fast, thrilling decent...

After the hard, painful breakthrough comes the exhilaration and anticipation of the upcoming thrill; the upcoming excitement; the forthcoming challenge.

Change is in the air. Instincts heighten, senses sharpen, energy reserves are rallied, all for one single reason... because a synapse activated the chemical that excites and triggeres the "dare to do it..." mode.

I haven't been challenged for a while...

It's time... count down will start in T-20d...

Beauty….

What is it? Who can define it? Who could ever measure it? I dare not even go there…

I strongly believe that it is something that comes from within…
Something that no matter how much effort anyone puts in it, the outcome is always the same… who and what you are cannot be hidden under layers of layers of expensive base and mascara, colours and shades of a man-made product.

Beauty is abstract to dare measure it with petty and limiting tangibles like money, like objects… I will not fall into that pitfall, there are a great many things that are stunningly beautiful and are material; but the knowledge that they were made to measure up to a tangible measurement – usually monetary value – makes them marginally interesting for me…

As beauty is abstract, as trying to frame it and justify it, explain it, is effort wasted; a vain attempt to rationalise something that is and should be taken at a personal level only with no concern as to what others make of it, so do I now try to become a part of that equation…

Because I strongly believe that to understand beauty one must venture away from it; one must stop trying to define it, seek it, capture it, represent it and one must just be.

The inexorable appetite of the flesh…

It made him chase a scent across a globe and then some... He was still dreaming of the day when he would find what he was after, and finally experience completion and eventually salvation… redemption from a faith more cruel and unforgiving than the worse torment he had ever imagined; and he had imagined a lot.

Now the time had come when he was back on the chase again… He had to have flesh… and as always there was only one kind that made him move and tick. But his tick was far worse than the shake of the earthquake. The fear and the devastation that followed the victim of the quake equally and surpassingly terrifying with the thrill and adrenaline rush of experiencing it…

He pushed the drifting thoughts aside. There was a task at hand, and a pleasant one… Sitting in the centre of the metropolis, hidden away in a shady corner of a poor excuse of nutritional juices parlour – albeit truly and extensively equipped with any kind one could desire, ranging from pure extract of natural and legal resources to artificial concepts and constructs of the most illicit and perverse nature – he injected his glands in a most vulgar and ancient way with his purchase… A strong, potent chemical substance, reconstructed from an extinct species of the not-so-near past; he was sure it was a primate lizard, and he even once delved in discovering its true story, but as always his attention span and dedication only took him so far… no thrill there, but plenty in consuming, abusing it. The rush came hard, as hard as it was anticipated. He had mastered years ago not to show any expression, but he could never remember why. He was conscious though that those who knew could infer his status just by looking at his eyes… It was time. He could feel the fragments of time passing by him, gone, never to return; wasted. That infuriated him more – it did so even without the use of his much wanted and to an extend, now needed substance. He stood up forcefully, and the only reason that the stool did not go flying and crashing to a corner was the four screws that held it fast to the ground. The screws reminded him of the purpose of his visit in this place. He looked out of the window of the shop… people came and went. It was hunting time.

It took him another good hour to find something that held his look long enough to reach the precious threshold he had set… He went after her, in that short and annoying manner that he had. Fear… he knew from the past that they tasted better if they were afraid first. He figured out or imagined that it was the chemicals released from the natural reaction…

She tried to escape, unknowingly first, but as the day progressed and his presence became more and more apparent to her, more consciously and constructively… That only made him more interested. Finally, it started. She travelled from the center of the metropolis to one end and then to the other, going through all kinds of areas – almost as if trying to get him after another scent; she almost made it once or twice.

By the time she decided to walk into a retro entertainment shop, his excitement was such, that he did not pay attention where and what it was…

-o-

She figured out that the only way she could avoid today’s torment would be if she could lure someone in her stead instead. She hated it when she did that… but it was her only way out… the things that she had been through lately where by far above her pleasure line. She did enjoy a lot of pain and abuse – physical and mental – but this was fast surpassing any reasonable tolerances.

She noticed him as soon as he stood up, the glazed eyes and the penetrating look, as if constantly on the look out. He looked like a predator, and a dangerous one at it. She had seen his ilk times and times again and even had some in her wildest days. He would have to do, if only she could get him there…

Things that are dear...

How much before what I know and love perishes? How long before what I hold dear is gone?
Books, stories, history, facts, reality, everyday life… full of stories that prove that what I love is going, gone, never to return, chases as unwanted.

So why linger? Why struggle in a place and a world that hates me and my kind?

No more… I’ll look back to what’s mine and mine alone, cherish it and weather with it into oblivion…

Some things are just not worth fighting for…

Κάθομαι μπροστά από μια μικρή οθόνη και πατάω κουμπάκια...

Μετα απο πολύ καιρό έχω νεύρα... Όχι, όχι απλά νεύρα...
Μπήκα το πρωί στο γραφείο... Ένα υπερεκτιμημενο μπουρδελο γεματο πουτανες... κ ουτε καν ομορφες πουτανες... ασχημες, στριμενες αγγλιδες πουτανες, καταλευκες, γεματες τουπε και λιπος... μαζι τους κ εγω... Απο αυτες τις σαπιες που εχουν παρει μεσα τους αμετρητα χιλιομετρα απο οτι χρειαζοταν για να βαλουν σε ενα εικονικο λογαριασμο τρια μηδενικα ακομη. Απο αυτες που ειναι γεματες υφος κ ιδεα για το ατομο τους κ που προσποιουνται πως ειναι κατι παραπανω απο αυτο... απο αυτες που δεν παραδεχονται πως ειναι ακριβως αυτο, πουτανες. Απο αυτες που μισουν τις ομορφες πουτανες, αυτες που παραδεχονται τι ειναι κ πως ειναι.

Μπηκα στο μπουρδελο το πρωι, κ πανω στο κρεβατι, συγνωμη, γραφειο μου βρηκα ενα φακελο. Κοκκινο, σαν το φωτακι που εχουν τα καλα σπιτια εξω, ωστε να ξερει ο κοσμος που να παει... Κακα μαντατα, αλλα ουτε η πρωτη ουτε η τελευταια φορα ειναι... Ανοιγοντας το φακελο, διαβασα τα λογια τις αρχη τσατσας, αυτης της καρακαριολας, κοντοπιθαρης κατσαριδας που εχει να δει πουτσο στον κωλο του τουλαχιστον 1 χρονο κ αποφασισε πως ειναι αντρας κ νταβαντζης! Δυο σε ενα δηλαδη! Τα λογια της ψωλαρπαχτρας πορνης ηταν εμετικα, απαισια, ενα μειγμα ανασας σαπιας κ φορτωμενης με λογης λογης καταλοιπα απο το οργιο που της προσεφεραν οι φυλακισμενοι θανατοποινητες σαδιστες που την πηραν ως απαχαιρετιστιριο δωρο πριν την εκτελεση τους, σε μια παρτουζα πονου κ οργης.

«Αγαπητε μαλακα,

Λογο της τωρινης δυσκολιας που περναει η παγκοσμια οικονομια, αποφασισαμε πως θα σας γαμησουμε τσαμπα, και θα σας πουλαμε με την ωρα σε επιλεγμενους πελατας! Ως η ποιο εμπειρη και υψιλοβαθμη πουτανα του τμηματος σας, εχουμε την τιμη να σας γαμησουμε απο τον κωλο ασαλιωτα. Για την τιμη αυτη που σας κανουμε, ζηταμε ως ανταλλαγμα να κανετε την ακολουθη πραξη συμπονιας κ καλωσυνης προς 200 υπαλληλους της εταιρειας μας. Να τους απολυσετε.

Με τιμη,

Ο γαμιας της γειτονιας σας.

Υ.Γ. συννημενα βρειτε τη λιστα με τα ονοματα των 200. Εχετε προθεσμια μεχρι το τελος του Φεβρουαριου 2009 να ολοκληρωσετε το εργο σας, αλλιως θα σας ξαναγαμησουμε!»

Αλλαγη χρωματων, οργη, πονος, στεναχωρια... Η ελπιδα η πουτανα ομως ειναι παντα εκει, ακομη κ οταν πρεπει να εχει κρυφτει απο απλο σεβασμο προς τον κομιστη! Ετσι κ τωρα, η σαπια ειναι εκει. Κοιταω τα ονοματα... Μερικοι γνωστοι, μερικοι απο τους δικους μου. Ελπιζω πως ειναι κακογουστο ραντεβου, σαν αυτα με τους ανικανους γαμιαδες, που μονο φωναζουν αλλα απο πηδημα μηδεν. Ελπιζω πως θα ειναι κ το δικο μου ονομα εκει. Πραγματικα θα εκανε την δουλεια μου ποιο ευκολη. Τιποτα... καπως ετσι πρεπει να νιωθει ο 80αρης παππους που κοιταει ενα κωλαρακι 20χρονης χορευτριας σαμπα μπροστα στη μυτη του. Η οργη ριχνει πρωτα ενα βρωμοξυλο στην ελπιδα και μετα παει κ κλαιει μονη της σε μια γωνια του μυαλου. Κοιταω το γαμημενο μονιτορ μπροστα μου. Θελω να το βαρεσω, να του γαμησω οτι εχει κ δεν εχει, να το θρυψαλιασω κ μετα να παω στον οντα του γαμια κ να του δωσω μια δοση απο το φαρμακο του...

Του γαμια, που πηδαει κοσμο κ δεν ρωταει ουτε θελει να μαθει ποσο ασχημο κρεβατι ειναι. Του γαμια που νομιζει πως μας κανει κ χαρη, αυτη η χαροκαμενη τρισμοιρη καρικατουρα αποτυχημενου πορνοσταρ. Φαντασιωνομαι πως θα ηταν να τον πιασω στα χερια μου... πως θα ηταν να ειμαι ο εαυτος μου ξανα. Πως θα ηταν να παρω φορα απο το γαμημενο γραφειακι μου, να πηδηξω μεσα απο την τζαμαρια του αφριζοντας την οργη μου κ να του δωσω αρκετο χρονο να δει τα ματια μου ωστε να ξερει πως δεν θα ξανακανει τιποτα μετα απο αυτο γιατι θα ειναι κατακοιτος για πολυ καιρο... Μετα να του δειξω τι γινεται οταν καποιος αφηνει τον εαυτο του να δειξει τι νομιζει για αυτον, αντι να του χαμογελαει ψευτικα...

Φαντασιωνομαι την ηδονη που θα επερνα οταν θα του εξαρθωνα τα χερια απο τους ωμους του, ποσο ωραια θα περναγα οταν θα του εσπαγα τις επιγονατιδες, τι ηδονικους ηχους θα εβγαζε οταν θα χρησιμοποιουσα την γραβατα του για βρογχο, ισα ισα να του κοβει την ανασα κ την παροχη του αιματος στον εγκεφαλο...

Ενα σαδιστικο χαμογελο κυριαρχει στο προσωπο μου. Σηκωνομαι κ παω στο γραφειο του... Αδεια! Το αρχιδι ειναι σε αδεια! Για 1 μηνα! Ειναι για σκι στη γαλλια! Γαμω το χριστο σου, γαμω την παναγια σου, την πουτανα την μανα σου που σε εκανε οταν την βιαζαν οι αραπηδες αχθοφοροι σε ενα λιμανι στο αλγερι κ φωναζε κ αλλο!!! Γαμω το γαλα που βυζαξες! Γαμω το αχριστο κεφαλι σου, που δεν κανει ουτε για τασακι, μικροτσουτσουνο στρουμφακι, ομοφυλοφυλε κρυψινους αντρα.... Δεν εχω λεξεις να σου περιγραψω την κολαση που θα σου υποβαλλω, αλλα σου υποσχομαι πως πριν ο κωλος σου γινει παλιο ελληνικο πενηνταρικο, δεν θα φυγω απο εδω. Η κολαση θα ειναι τοπος διακοπων για σενα οταν θα εχω τελειωσει μαζι σου...

Τωρα, το μονο που φαντασιωνομαι ειναι να με απολυσει οταν γυρισει κ να ειναι εδω....

slope

Το τοπίο είναι ανεπανάληπτο – ακόμη και εδώ , ακόμη και για εσένα που έχεις ξανάρθει. Η ανάσα παγώνει, τόσο από την εικόνα αλλά και από την θερμοκρασία. Οι κορυφές ατενίζουν αγέρωχα τα μερμηγκάκια που με κόπο και ματαιοδοξία πηγαινοέρχονται σε μια λανθάνουσα, σπασμωδική πορεία. Περιμένει να φύγουν, δεν θέλει να ενταχθεί εκεί. Στην σιωπηλή αναμονή παρατηρεί την φύση και μελετά την ανέχεια της σε εμάς, τα παράσιτα...

Πόσο μαγευτικά εναρμονισμένες οι κορφές, πόσο σημαντικές οι γραμμές των δέντρων και πόσο προκλητικές οι υψομετρικές διαφορές. Έχει περάσει καιρός. Κοιτάει και χάνεται στην ομορφιά που περιτριγυρίζει. Ο χρόνος περνάει σε άλλη διάσταση, όχι σε γραμμή, όχι σε σειρά, αλλά ναι, έχει ξαναυπάρξει αυτή η στιγμή. Είναι η στιγμή της ένωσης, η στιγμή που βρίσκει τον χαμένο εαυτό στο χρονοντούλαπο, η στιγμή που το κάτι ξυπνάει και μυρίζει την τροφή του. Κάποιοι θα λέγαν το κτήνος, αφού μόνο μανία περιγράφει την όρεξη που μπορεί και χαρακτηρίζει τις πράξεις και την ένταση τους, το πάθος τους, την ανάγκη τους. Μια γρήγορη και διψασμένη ματιά ανακαλύπτει το μονοπάτι ανάμεσα στα δέντρα, την γραμμή που κανένας δεν έχει βεβηλώσει ακόμη, την γραμμή που κάνει το κάτι, το κτηνος, μέσα να αλυχτάει από χαρά, προσμονή, πάθος, φόβο, όλα μαζί σε μια αγωνία για την εμπειρία, για το τι θα επακολουθήσει.

Η ώρα έχει έρθει... μια μελωδία καλύπτει το μυαλό, ένα φιλμ χαλάρωσης, αυστηρής ηρεμίας, καθώς παράλληλα η ιεροτελεστία της προετοιμασίας έχει ξεκινήσει... Ποτέ δεν κατάλαβε αν είναι φόβος ή ηδονή αυτή η προσοχή και σημασία σε αυτό το σημείο. Μπότες, ρούχα, τσάντα... όλα στη θέση τους, σωστά, εναρμονισμένα, εκπέμπουν μια ασφάλεια, μια ετοιμότητα... αριστερό πόδι στη δέστρα. 39 κλικ και 3 χαλάρωμα – μετά από τόσα χρονιά όλα έχουν την σωστή τους θέση. Δεξί πόδι στη δέστρα, 42 κλικ και ασφάλεια... Στέκεται... το βουνό καλεί, προσκαλεί, ανοίγει μπροστά, γεμάτο προκλήσεις και γεμάτο εμπειρίες. Η διαδρομή είναι απλή μέχρι τα δέντρα, ένα χαλαρό σλάλομ, μια απλή σειρά αριστερών και δεξιών στροφών, τα πρώτα δειλά βήματα για ένα χορό. Πίσω από τα δέντρα όμως...

Προσεγγίζει τα δέντρα και κόβει ανάμεσα τους, πολλές φορές από πάνω τους, αφού το φρέσκο χιόνι είναι άπλετο και καλύπτει τυχόν εμπόδια. Ένα έντονο φως προδίδει το επόμενο βήμα, ή μάλλον το επόμενο άλμα... Το άνοιγμα μπροστά αντανακλά το φως και συγκριτικά με την σκιά των δέντρων δημιουργεί μια πνευματική εικόνα του τι ακολουθεί... Ένα γρήγορο σκανάρισμα δεν δίνει τίποτα για κατάλληλο σημείο προσέγγισης, η επιλογή είναι τυφλό άλμα και πέσιμο ή φρένα και άγαρμπο, άχαρο σύρσιμο μέχρι την άκρη της πλαγιάς... Το φως λάμπει τόσο που οι εικόνες που γεμίζουν το κεφάλι του είναι μόνο από κατάλευκες πλαγιές, με μεγάλη κλίση και χωρίς κανένα ίχνος βράχου, μόνο ράμπες...

Είναι στον αέρα... το κτήνος έχει κυριεύσει τελείως τώρα... Η προσγείωση μάλλον άγαρμπη και τουλάχιστον 2 δευτερόλεπτα μετά από ότι περίμενε. Μόνο η μανία και ο πόθος κρατάνε και επιτρέπουν την συνεχεία στην πορεία.... Γραμμή καμία, καθαρά όλα... Ηδονή... Η κραυγή είναι στην άκρη του στόματος, όμως πρέπει να κρατηθεί, η χιονοστιβάδα είναι γεγονός εδώ και όχι γέννημα κάποιας φαντασίας. Μόνο ταχύτητα μένει στο συνειδητό... οι υπόλοιπες αισθήσεις απολαμβάνουν την μοναδική αυτή εμπειρία οπτικοακουστικών και αισθητικών ερεθισμάτων. Η πούδρα που κόβεται από το σανίδι είναι ποιο αφράτη από οτιδήποτε άλλο, ποιο δροσιστική από οτιδήποτε άλλο, και καθώς οι θερμοκρασίες ανεβαίνουν, έτσι ανεβαίνει και η ηδονή, μοιρασμένη ανάμεσα στην βόλτα, το εγκεφαλικό τριπαρισμα και τον κόπο που απαιτεί αυτή η βόλτα...

Τα πόδια καίγονται, οι μυς είναι εξαντλημένοι... 20 λεπτά σε πούδρα είναι περισσότερο από όσο μπορεί να αντέξει τώρα... αλλά δεν γίνεται να τελειώσει έτσι, τώρα, εδώ... όχι όσο έχει ακόμη χώρο. Το φυσικό άλμα μπροστά φαντάζει μικρο, αλλά υπάρχει μια μικρή φωνή στο πίσω μέρος του μυαλού που λέει πως με αυτή την ταχύτητα και την υψομετρική διαφορά, μόνο μικρο δεν θα είναι. Καμία διαφορά... ένα χαμόγελο σχηματίζεται στο πρόσωπο και το σώμα αυτόματα προσαρμόζεται σε μια νέα θέση. Η γωνία είναι πολύ μεγαλύτερη από όσο φαινόταν, και η ταχύτητα πολύ μεγαλύτερη από όσο ξέρει πως μπορεί να προσγειώσει... ένα κλάσμα αργότερα πετάει, το έδαφος και το χιόνι μακρυά, και κάτι δέντρα τριγύρω γελάνε με το τι θα ακολουθήσει... το χαμόγελο γίνεται γέλιο και το γέλιο οδηγεί στην έκφραση. Η κραυγή ηδονής και χαράς είναι η αποκορύφωση. Η κάθοδος έχει ξεκινήσει, και καμία μα καμία σημασία δεν έχει... Εξάλλου, ποτέ δεν ασχολήθηκε με την προσγείωση...