Strange...

Σε ξέρω από χρόνια.
Από ψιθύρους του μυαλού όταν κοιμάται.
Από καθρέπτες που κοιτώ.
Από εφιάλτες.
Στροβιλιζόσουν σε καπνούς από τσιγάρα.
Στη θαμπάδα του αλκοόλ.
Αργά.
Σταθερά.
Χαραμίζεσαι για ένα ψέμα.
Βουλιάζεις χωρίς να νιώθεις.
Φοβάσαι.
Σε ήξερα πριν σε γνωρίσω.
Σε ξεχνάω πριν σε μάθω.

This Vicious Cabaret

They say that there's a broken light for every heart on Broadway.
They say that life's a game, then they take the board away.
They give you masks and costumes and an outline of the story
Then leave you all to improvise their vicious cabaret...

In no-longer-pretty cities there are fingers in kitties.
There are warrants, forms, and chitties and a jackboot on the stair.
Sex and death and human grime, in monochrome for one thin dime,
But at least the trains all run on time but they don't go anywhere.
Facing their Responsibilities either on their backs or on their knees
There are ladies who just simply freeze and dare not turn away
And the widows who refuse to cry will be dressed in garter and bow-tie
And be taught to kick their legs up high in this vicious cabaret.

At last! The 1998 Show!
The ballet on the burning stage.
The documentary see
Upon the fractured screen
The dreadful poem scrwled upon the crumpled page...

There's a policeman with an honest soul that has seen whose head is on the pole
And he grunts and fills his briar bowl with a feeling of unease.
But he briskly frisks the torn remains for a fingerprint or crimson stains
And endevours to ignore the chins that he walks in to his knees.
while his master in the dark nearby inspects the hands, with a brutal eye,
That have never brushed a lover's thigh but have squeezed a nation's threat.
But he hungers in his secret dreams for the harsh embrace of cruel machines
But his lover is not what she seems and she will not leave a note.

At last! The 1998 Show!
The Situation Tragedy
Grand Opera slick with soap
Cliffhangers with no hope
The water-colour in the flooded gallery...

There's a girl who'll push but not shove and is desperate for her father's love
She believes the hand beneath the glove maybe one she needs to hold.
Though she doubts her hosts moralities she decides she is more at ease
In the Land Of Doing What You Please than outside in the cold.
But the backdrop's peel and the sets give way and the cast gets eaten by the play
There's a murderer at the Matinee, there are dead men in the aisles
And the patrons and actors too are uncertain if the show is through
And with side-long looks await their cue but the frozen mask just smiles.

At last! The 1998 Show!
The torch-song no one ever sings
The curfew chorus line
The comedy divine
The bulging eyes of puppets strangled by their strings

There's thrills and chills and girls galore, sing-songs and surprises
There's something hear for everyone, (reserve your seat today)
There's mischief and malarkies but no queers or yids or darkies
Wwithin this bastard's carnival, this vicious cabaret.

Μπορεί η εξωτερικά να βλέπεις κάτι 

συνηθισμένο.
Αν όμως καταφέρεις να φτάσεις μέχρι τα υπόγεια.....

ΘΑ ΤΡΟΜΆΞΕΙΣ.

Στη Τέχνη δεν υπάρχει παρθενογένεση.

Εν αρχή ην "The Kinks":

Στη συνέχεια πήραν τα ηνία οι "Oasis" ~και ο Rhys Ifans~ :

Και μετά, το πήραν μυρουδιά οι Έλληνες:

.... και αποφάσισαν να κάνουν και sequel Υπερπαραγωγή:

(αν ξέχασα κάτι, πειτε μου!)

ΥΓ. Ναι. Το alter ego μου φοράει πάντα top hat ~και γυαλιά τύπου Ozzy. Και γιλέκο. Και μωβ πουκάμισο. Και ριγέ κάλτσες....)
ΥΓ2: Μετά τον Victor Hugo, ωραίος τρόπος για να καταποντίσεις το "επίπεδο" του blog σου (at least, συμπεριλαμβάνονται The Kinks και Oasis....)!
ΥΓ3: Αυτά.

ANArKH

"....And he flung away the hammer in a rage. Then he sank down so deeply on the arm-chair and the table, that Jehan lost him from view behind the great pile of manuscripts. For the space of several minutes, all that he saw was his fist convulsively clenched on a book. Suddenly, Dom Claude sprang up, seized a compass and engraved in silence upon the wall in capital letters, this Greek word

~ANArKH~.

"My brother is mad," said Jehan to himself; "it would have been far more simple to write ~Fatum~, every one is not obliged to know Greek."

The archdeacon returned and seated himself in his armchair, and placed his head on both his hands, as a sick man does, whose head is heavy and burning.

The student watched his brother with surprise. He did not know, he who wore his heart on his sleeve, he who observed only the good old law of Nature in the world, he who allowed his passions to follow their inclinations, and in whom the lake of great emotions was always dry, so freely did he let it off each day by fresh drains,--he did not know with what fury the sea of human passions ferments and boils when all egress is denied to it, how it accumulates, how it swells, how it overflows, how it hollows out the heart; how it breaks in inward sobs, and dull convulsions, until it has rent its dikes and burst its bed. The austere and glacial envelope of Claude Frollo, that cold surface of steep and inaccessible virtue, had always deceived Jehan. The merry scholar had never dreamed that there was boiling lava, furious and profound, beneath the snowy brow of AEtna."

Victor Hugo, Notre Dame de Paris.

Προχθές, επέστρεψα από ένα ταξίδι στο Παρίσι. Προφανώς πήγα και στη Notre Dame και ανέβηκα και τα 387 σκαλοπάτια μέχρι την κορυφή των πύργων της. Τα σκαλοπάτια ήταν στενά, απότομα, ελικωτά και ατελείωτα και στους τοίχους όντως υπήρχαν χαραγμένες λέξεις από χέρια ανθρώπων που έχουν πλέον ξεχαστεί... Η παρουσία του Claude Frollo με στοιχειώνει ακόμα και τώρα, αν και φανταστικό πρόσωπο......

Να, εδώ με τα καρντάσια.

Κορεσμός

Έχω κορεστεί. 

Σε μια λακκούβα γεμάτη άμμο και λίγο νερό

Ίσα ίσα να κάνει πηχτή λάσπη.

Εκεί βρίσκομαι θαμμένη.

Άμμος.

Άμμος πηχτή.

Παγωμένη.

Ξένη.

Εισβάλει στη μύτη, στο στόμα, στα αυτιά.

Φουσκώνει τα πνευμόνια. 

Γεμίζει το κρανίο και διαπερνάει το μυαλό .

Κατατρώει το σώμα. Γίνεται σώμα...

Και στο τέλος, ξεχνάω που τελειώνω εγώ, και που αρχίζει η μισητή λάσπη.

Ανοίγει το στομα να ουρλιάξει μα ξερνάει τη τούτη τη σιχαμερή ουσία. 

Εισπνέει ~άμμος~.

Εκπνέει ~άμμος~.

Ο ήλιος μαυρίζει.

Γίνεται άμμος.

Καταρρέει και με σκεπάζει.

Ήλιος-άμμος.

Όλα άμμος.

Ένα κορμί άμμος.

Ποια είμαι; 

Δε θυμάμαι! 

Θυμάμαι! 

Είμαι η Άμμος.

Κλείνω τα μάτια.

Μάτια από άμμο.

Κοιμάμαι.

Ξυπνάω.

Ένας εφιάλτης με βασάνιζε, αλλόκοτος.

Μα έχει περάσει πια.

Δεν τον θυμάμαι.

Σηκώνομαι. 

Και αγνοώ την άμμο που κυλάει από πάνω μου σε κάθε βήμα.