Spark of Synapses

No inspiration strikes me to write beautifully. not that I usually do but let's just say i'm more a slave to a certain kind of muse sometimes. This is not flowing and I want it to but. nevertheless, I long for expressing what I am thinking. It is almost impossible not to get lost in the branches and distractions my brain offers, words that jump up when they're not supposed to be there. I will lead you not to the result and neither to the root, and in this chaos of paths, somewhere, someone, maybe someday will find me.  At my age, it seems that I have lived most of my life locked inside my head.  The monsters and the angels, playing there. Offering pain but also safe recluse for the world out there. I have not lived the 'out there'. The control of my head kept me there and the projection of my being in this universe has spun out of control into complete nothingness with respect to experiences.  Still not independent, still not confident, still dreading simple p

It's a difficult task to write when emotions are more fluid. It's a difficult task to write anyway, I have never been one to say that it comes naturally to pretend that I have an idea of what the sentence will be before I insert a period. As always, paradoxes exist and whether I am one or whether life is one; I think I will never know. It is with increasing curiosity and decreasing limits that I encounter questions like these in my everyday passing of minutes. I should stress the word 'passing' because it seems that I live those moments post hoc. Just like my sentences. This is what I enjoy in writing although I'd be lying if I said that this is what excites me about my own life. It is never the journey, it's the destination. An irrational thought I disagree with but I formulate my whole life around. Maybe I shouldn't  be writing with an emotionally stable mind, it seems that it drives me to peaks of...sparks of.. loops. As always, this is a message to me

It might feel like something you know but it's completely different. It's out of your hands again; the control. You've lost it somewhere along the way and the only martyr is your ego. Or maybe yourself. Probably you've been in the same situation before but this one feels like it has changed somewhat. Maybe a more advanced method of madness scribbled in ink on your pia mater. ~ Some words may never lose a meaning and might not even gain one. There will be there to remind you of the unattainable and unjust past, present and future while you lie down pretending you're someone else. Pretending that what goes through your head is a progress.  

The return. I could try to show you or sit down for hours with you and recite the adventure of what life has been or should have been or would have been. There's only one truth though. Even though the clock keeps ticking and those holy levers keep turning, I have changed as much as I have not and I've grown as much as I have shrunk. A constancy that is hard to abide to in a rational kind of sense but it's unavoidable in the fascinating width of nature, I suppose. There would be no sense in naming or shaming or blaming. Except if the mirror is placed at an angle that is appropriate for the particular perception of that past moment and of that past or ever present You. Caleidograms and holograms, astrolabes and planetariums- maybe random words thrown together or maybe just insanity paraphrased into sentences with peculiar and distinct meanings. I shall not bore you with the entity of being or who the being has been or what the being has done. I shall not influence th

The lullaby is sung. The circadian rhythm of the body is oscillating from note to note. Night and day, turn into shapeless melodies of a mind and body you once thought you owned.  *  Time is slipping away through every beat of the drum, through every ludicrous dream crack, through the washing waves of the pentagram. Underneath it all, the endless spiralling of the porcelain-like dancers reminds you of everything. * Nothing was lost nor found. You.

It's been a long break. Too many changes to remember or even realise. But they're there. It sometimes feels like life is taking over you and you seize to be able to control it. You play your part, and you play it well but it doesn't seem to be the part that you wanted it to be. Of course you're the lead. The audience is looking at you and your every move. Or maybe the audience is just you looking at yourself. And you're the audience, the lead, the actor, the theatre curator, the cleaner, the director and every damn critic that says it as it is. ''Your show is pure crap. Nothing original, nothing exciting. Food with no salt. No flavour.'' It's that critics voice that echoes in your head, and in the now empty theatre. A critic that simply states what has become of your dream. It's not your fault that your show has been stripped of the glamour and originality. Society has banned imagination. Economy has left you in need for some pieces of

You come into this world free. A dreamer. Then chains begin to form around your tiny wrists and ankles. It starts with religion. It is inflicted upon you. You are not even old enough to read and yet religion has been thrown at you. The chains are carved with your first cross, star, moon, ohm. Then one miraculous day for those around you , you start to stigmatise your thoughts. You say your first words. You have now started to confine meanings, to create boxes, to mumble labels. The chains are filled with the alphabet. You grow up a bit by bit. Feeling free and happy. Asking questions and absorbing the answers given to you. It's time to go to school. New clothes, new backpack, a cool sparkly lunchbox and pictures to keep as memories for this wonderful transition in your life! You learn about rules. Rules of friendships, rules of success, rules of mating, rules of dividing adding multiplying and subtracting, rules of standing out, rules of power, rules of language, rules of p

Κανείς δεν μου είπε σαν μεγάλωνα πως ψέματα θα έβρισκε μονάχα η ψυχή μου. Ονειρευτικά έναν κόσμο ουτοπικό. Έναν κόσμο γεμάτο αγάπη και ελπίδα. Κανέναν δεν τον νοιάζει πια. Όλοι έχουν δεχτεί πως ο κόσμος "έτσι είναι", και απλά τον διαβαίνουν δίχως ερωτήσεις. Γεμάτοι με συμφέροντα. Δεν είναι πως δεν έχω μεγαλώσει. Έχω ήδη μάθει και πάθει πολλά. Αυτό δεν σημαίνει πως έχω μάθει να το αντιμετωπίζω. Πόσο μάλλον να το δέχομαι. Και ας με πουν ιδεαλίστρια και ονειροπόλα. Θέλω να ζήσω σε έναν κόσμο δίχως συμφέροντα και διχασμούς. Δίχως σύνορα και θρησκείες να μας χωρίζουν. Δίχως κομματικά και στιβαρά πιστεύω που σου κλείνουν τα μάτια. Θέλω αλλαγές! Θέλω καλοσύνη. Θέλω να λέω σε όλο τον κόσμο καλημέρα και να το εννοώ όσο σκατά και αν είναι η δικιά μου. Θέλω να μπορώ να στηριχτώ σε έναν συνάνθρωπο μου χωρίς αυτός να με παρατήσει για το δικό του καλό. Και να μπορώ να κάνω και εγώ το ίδιο. Να αγαπάω πραγματικά χωρίς να ζητάω κάτι. Τόσο πολύ που έστω και αν κάτι με πληγώνει να με διακ

You look at the mirror and all you see are the faults. The faults that others supposedly love. What is there to love when the soul is shallow of human inadequacy? You try to look at yourself from the inside. The corrosion is too much. It is not worth fixing. You should try to buy a new self. People leave you. Bleeding. They don´t care. It makes them happier. You resent that. How can they actually do something to make themselves happy? Can´t they see that they are as destroyed as you are? You never choose consciously or subconsciously something to make you feel better. That would be too selfish. You destroy what does make you feel better. The future is just repetition of you carrying yourself through the same dark paths. Not much to see there. Black. Absence of colour. Absence of them. Absence of him. Absence of you.