Thoughts on a song.

             

As the Winter is approaching its ending,

while the darkest hour signals the coming 

of a speedy daylight,

mourning is transforming its end

for its own sake.

Songs heard in other winter-times

and ages of frantic intervals

come to memory to ring the bells

of the forthcoming morning.

Humming such a song at this time

cannot be granted as a lullaby

but it certainly can be called one.

Cymbeline.

Fear no more the heat of the sun
Nor the furious winters rages;
Thou thy wordly task hast done,
Home art gone, and taken thy wages.
Golden lads and girls all must,
As chimney-sweepers, come to dust.

The sceptre, learning, physic, must
All follow this and come to dust.

Fear no more the frown of the great;
Thou art past the tyrant's stroke.
Care no more to clothe and to eat;
To thee the reed is as the oak.
The sceptre, learning, physic, must
All follow this and come to dust.

All lovers young, all lovers must
Consign to thee and come to dust.

Fear no more the lightning flash,
Nor th' all-dreaded thunder-stone;
Fear not slander, censure rash;
Thou hast finished joy and moan.
All lovers young, all lovers must
Consign to thee and come to dust.

Loreena McKennitt's "Cymbeline" from the album "The Visit", 1991.

Lyrics by William Shakespeare, ca. 1609.

Letter from the editor.

You think you know me; yet
the "I" implied in the speech, indirectly,
seems to derive from the same act
of a deceptive procedure


in that hidden nest of your certainty.
The crypt of Ego.


The only thing I may say unbiased to this,
is welcome. But then again,
I could not but wonder what taste
this subtle tactile print, 
truly, not just really,
it is that it has.


Trying to guess once more reflects necessity. 
Welcome though, welcome as well.
     
            

  The Cure: "A letter to Elise". 

      

              

INSIGHT

                                   
                                                
Time of action arrived
unsuspected, saturated,
moving effortlessly the little black leaves
on a pair of awaken eyelids.
                             
                               
The wind blew upon these lashes
motivating them to clarify
the tremendous hidden reality of lack of purpose,
as purpose itself.
                        
                                                
A day was born by this in such a way,
that the bearing wind, the otherwise unbearable,
was absorbed, along with the dark,
into what appeared as the Unintentional.
                        
                                                          
It was disguised,
like many important matters tend to,
having taken the natural form
of a welcome, physical, pleasing yawn.
                                             











                          

                                                                       

Nikos X:  "Intersubjectivity in Concrete Dialogue".

                                                           

                                                

Half a cent.

                                                                                    

D. turns fifty on Z.'s Name Day

Wishes in Celebration

Among Bowie's Songs

                                                                                          We partied 

till late

for the decades -- the friends -- their friends

                                                                                          then parted

like the years

having sung    What's half a Century

                      What's your name?

Life can't suck -- we can

Girl dressed all in black

    Glowing  as  Red

I 'm Not Afraid To Love You.

...

 

The Black Keys - "Too Afraid To Love You".

                      

                                            

                                    

Meet Thy Self.

So what happens when you meet yourself? And what would that mean? Meeting one's self could be finding a copy of one's body, a soulmate, a lost part of the Self, or well-hidden aspects of one's being in the vast darkness of the Unconscious. Despite what it could mean -anyway it is personal and it wouldn't apply to everyone-, I think the most tense feeling of that moment is surprise.

 

One could be overwhelmed so much by the discovery, that most probably would be unable to act. Also, the ''noise of reality'' can also lead to a delayed response, making it easier to miss the chance of a connection there. All of this is uniquely illustrated in Mike Figgis' film ''The Loss of Sexual Innocence'' and in Krzysztof Kieslowski's ''La double Vie de Veronique'', where the heroins meet their twins.

 

In both cases it is unexpected, the element of surprise is present and reality invades in an attempt to preserve the established balance (a bag with papers or a breaking bottle as the ''noise'', which constitutes the emergency against what's more important).

 

I am sure that Figgis had in mind Kieslowski's Veronica and maybe it is a tribute to the question: 

 

Do we dare to meet ourselves, even if it happens by chance?

 

 

 

 

Σφηνάκι: Struggle for Pleasure.

                                                                               

November, the end of Fall, this intermediate time of the year that becomes shrunken gradually. A reminder of our losses in all respects. Leaves falling on the ground leaving naked branches on the trees, birds flying away to unknown destinations. All of this takes place under the shadow of a come-back promise. And what about people? No promises... Just cars roaming. Explicit photography, high aesthetics in the year 1982!