String Theory

Surrounded by a crowd
that i have no desire to fit in.
One , just one little Thread
connecting me to the World.

It sings to me in my loneliness
the melody so harmonic,
like Strings from a Harp

Yet i remain human,
the Strings turn into an umbilical Cord
seeding humanity in me.

I care not for you allure,
i was charmed from the start
as if from a hypnotist's Pendulum

My beautiful, beautiful String
coiling arround me,
my Serpent of Passion.

Devoured by you
i bathe in your light
Radiant Sun Shaft

Hypnotised i stand
aloof in a world of Wonders
descend upon me

I welcome you

my Glorious Noose

Alchemical Insecurities

What is it that i am looking for?
Excitement, Surprise?
Is expectation the real enemy of truth and reality?
... of Dreams?
... of Escapism?
Will i ever Learn? (Do i even want to?)
Don't say a word.. don't Jinx it.
As if spoken words are proverbial Daggers hurled at the end-result, killing it.
Work and Pray.. the Alchemist's Mantra.
Countless times before i spoiled the results and it all blew on my face!
You stupid man.. Heard a couple of smart words spoken in a tender tone.
You hypocritical idiot! You can't make a golem with only a toe, a finger and a voice.
You need so much more.. so much more that you can't simply replace the rest of the equation with mere "Expectation". That doesnt result in "Human Being" it only results in Chimera.
Human transmutation , however, always ends in error, hubris and , ultimately, Pain and Regret.

Substitute For Love

Impossible? Perhaps not.
Viable? Most probable.
The hunter in me is smiling contently. I suffered fools, so gladly.
I just needed another perspective , that's all.
What did Brian say? "An immitation of hetero"
Not quite my love. The need, the hunger, drove me into them shackles. I sated it. I hurt him..and him.. and him... Victims, aren't we all?
Where do i stand now? Another jaded smile, another broken carcass, another meal for the King, so who is this then?
A substitute for love. Ah! How beutiful this one is. Do i care how long this one lasts before it turns corrupt? Not.... really. Does that make me cynical, a bastard, soulless, damaged?
The good doctor discribed me as emotionally crippled.
The bad boyfriend, as a fraud.
The ugly ex, as a monster.

It matters not to me. As long as i am intact. Flinging my arrows uncarring of the wounded.
Dear brother how spot on you were back then.
I deserve all that's coming my way and by god i battled hard for all of them.
I am as certain , as i am that i will ultimately lose that battle.

All it matters is that i am content, gratefull and smiling.
Yes! The Beast grows tired of it. I am so eerily eager to see what the Piano will have me dancing again.

For the time being.. i sleep with my feast.
I hope the sound of my licking my lips won't wake him up.

... et Spiriti Sancti.

Fingers flowing in incandecent mist, sparks and motes of fire , shrouded in tendrils of smoke.
Touching and feeling the essence that is the fire-to-be. Temperature is already high, eyes shut drying up from the heat.
Inwards movement, hands folding, Mist following the gesture bringing the burning specs closer , coalescing into a bright core near the sternum.
Outwards stretch, arms unfolding trailing oposite directions- smoke following suite forming a blackened whirl flaked with fiery motes. The core sends out thin rings of condensed heat pushing sparks and smoke outwards, four , six then eight same centered rings are shot in vertical and paralel directions outlining the human form , encasing it in a transparent sphere.
Body movement, spiral. Hands outstreched. Gravity loses it's grip, as matter transmogrifies into energy. Surrounding objects are light aflame but maintain structural bonds, yet losing physical mass. Everything floats, linned in tongues of fire, pulsing with heat and bright light.
Golden light, in fiery orange tinctures, streaked with silver smoke. Walls pulsing with heat,paint pealing and setting of in to the air before it desolves in motes of fire, stone liquifying grasping desperately in it's surroundings.
Head pushed back, hair crowning upwards, arms outstreched hands facing the welcoming sky. Legs reaching for the ground, toes not touching earth. A heavenly burning Nirvana that offers room for only the spirit. Cleansed of all other elements. Purified by limning flames.
The core suspended in front of the solar plexus sending out rings of fire pulsing in time with the heart. A steady slow tempo.
Breathe in one last breath, audiable drawing in smoke and dots of light. Holding in the remnant of mortality, an anchor to all that is human. The threshold between elemental and mundane.
Reaching the peak of the convergeance , release it all in a flux.
Drained of all color and substance everything in a few meters turns pure white, pulsating solid fire.
The first sensation of recovery comes from the toes as they touch the ground once again fingers following, then knees.

His eyes open and flash white before returning to a mortal shade of hazel. The first exhalation is smoked and then it's pure air again. Temperature downgraded to normal. Everything is now bleached white and smoothed. Nothing charred, only purified.

.. alarm clock rings.. time to go to work again.

The Careless Whisper

Time can never mend the careless whispers of a good friend
To the heart and mind, ignorance is kind there's no comfort in the truth pain is all you'll find

I feel so unsure as I take your hand and lead you to the dance floor as the music dies, something in your eyes calls to mind the silver screenand all its sad good-byes
I'm never gonna dance again guilty feet have got no rhythm though it's easy to pretend I know you're not a fool
Should've known better than to cheat a friend and waste the chance that I've been given so I'm never gonna dance again the way I danced with you
Time can never mendthe careless whispers of a good friend to the heart and mind ignorance is kind there's no comfort in the truth pain is all you'll find
I'm never gonna dance again guilty feet have got no rhythm though it's easy to pretend I know you're not a fool
Should've known better than to cheat a friend and waste this chance that I've been given so I'm never gonna dance again the way I danced with you
Never without your love
Tonight the music seems so loud I wish that we could lose this crowd Maybe it's better this way We'd hurt each other with the things we'd want to say
We could have been so good together We could have lived this dance forever
But noone's gonna dance with me
Please stay And I'm never gonna dance again guilty feet have got no rhythm though it's easy to pretend I know you're not a fool
Should've known better than to cheat a friend and waste the chance that I've been given so I'm never gonna dance again the way I danced with you
(Now that you're gone) Now that you're gone
(Now that you're gone) What I did's so wrong
that you had to leave me alone

The Urge.

Half lights, smoke, sweat the musk of a city.
Summer heat reflected from concrete at night. Distant car horns and homemade rabble, bickering and the sound of cutlery and pots.
The reverberation of a thousand feet stomping the asphalt. Soles of shoes taping on damp cement, pieces of clothes and accessories dragging on the street. A jacket thrown on a garbage bin, a piece of chain from somebodies back pack hitting a lamp post. Random objects hitting the floor, plastic metal and cloth. The occasional oomph of a human rushing to meet the ground. Countless panting breaths, the brushing of skin as they try to outrun each other.
Lips half open, dry and cracked, rimmed with sweat. Hair being tossed in a matted mass. Fingers gripping arms to hold for dear balance. Hands pushing against flesh and bones, covered in dust turned to mud with sweat, trickling down shoulder blades, sternums and necks. Muscles rippling underneath. Straining to keep up with the momentum.
Eyes wide and frenzied fixed on nothing at all. The look but a reflection of the things to come. More concrete to stampede on. More people to push through. Obstacles to overcome or simply topple over. Nothing holds meaning to their eyes.
The occasional puddle of water to be stepped upon and splash it's contents numerous times until it's spread over too much concrete, asphalt shoes and feet. Sweaty hand prints left on the formerly reflective surfaces of cars, shop windows, trash cans and traffic lights. Smears of blood on building walls, corners or telephone booths.
Civilizations' end, rationality's demise, nothing left but The Urge.
In a poorly lit roof top she was smiling a yellow smile that reeked of something burning.

The Little Man.

I saw you, Little Man.
On your days of rest and leisure, Little Man.
I was there, Little Man, stupid man.
I served you well, i was your go-to man, Little Man.
Silvered and lathered, smothered and pampered you are, Little Man.
With your wife and child, an even littler man, Little Man.
You are an animal, not a man. Little man.
A beast more primitive than the sea, the one you bathe in, Little Man, swimming man.
After the distinction of light and dark, came the Hunger and you are It. Little Man.
The reason i didn't want to touch you was fear, not courtesy. Little Hungry Man.
You gave me disgust and contempt for you and your kin. I never want to serve you again
Little Man.

Entropy vs Life

Have you ever looked at your self or someone you know.. and suddenly realize what time has done on them?

Didn't it scare you to suddenly realize in that it's a matter of a few years before you turn old, wrinkled, haggard and ultimately .. well.. dead?

So here is how i look at it.
It's the Entropy monster.. day by day slashing and flaying the youth from us.. and everything around us. We can't notice it daily, but at some occasions we just have this epiphany.. "omagad! it was totaly different 10 years ago, look at it now!"
What it does is suck our life's energy away from us.

But wait a minute.. it sucks us daily.. but still we are standing, laughing and going about at our everyday lives.
Shouldn't we just marvel at how much life we have in us instead of turning an emo eye at the world around us?

It really takes a hard look at the forces of entropy, to see how really powerfull they are, so you can appreciate the opposite and similar force that is life.
Rejoice you stupid humans.

Beastial Waltz

For Years It Sleeps, Burrowed In Side
.........d.......f#...a..........e............g....b
Tuck it To Sleep, Hidding It with Flowers
....d..... f#....... a........ e .........g ........b
Untill you can Listen to Its Moaning NoMore
.....d.......f#........a..........e........g.......a... D
Little Drops of Blood, Playing Its' Waltz
...b..... g........... b........... b.... f#..... b
It Stirrs in Its' Slumber, Inciting your Anger
.b.....g......... b................... b................F#
You try for years to mute it's song, deafening your self with every other sound
But it won't work. Every drop of blood hits the Feral Piano playing the Beastial Waltz
It Wants to dance, it needs to feed.
For how long can you hide it? For how long can you gag it? How long will you pretend you do not tweek when you hear the voice. That voice, Primadona Insidia, La Coloratura Infernia, weaving your anger blasts and white-knuckled verses into crescendos of fury.
Even in silence the little drops keep playing their tune.
It still calls out for a reason, to lash out, to break, to plant your bones in someone else's flesh and bones. To listen to the sweet piano, waltzing the life away from everything else. Dancing the joy away, steping in time to make everything ...silent.
...b....g.....b........... b....f#....b ...b....g......b.................b.......F#

Through the Looking glass.. behind glass.

You see him there. Unmoving and smudged.
You lower and whipe your glasses.
It's still rainning. But he is still there. Spotted.
You lower and whipe your glasses again.
Why can't you focus on his image like you used to?
You turn the mirror to see him better.
He still seems to be fading in the distance! You wonder, why?
Lower and whipe your glasses once more.
You miss him!! You want to touch him. All you feel is wet glass.
Try whipping the fogged glass.
Just how many stained glasses must you clear and twist and turn to make them focus , when breaking them all down , just isn't an option?

Im-pulse

There i was.. six floors off the ground
Staring down a shaft, a preety one..
with glass windows all around and all the way down
It was preety high... but i couldnt see the sky
I was in the mall.. you see?
Up? Clear Plastic Blue Heavens.
Down.. Ooh.. look.. Bricks.. and people. Oh My! Its high.
I felt like the last Pringle in it's tube... staring at the floor while someone turns my box upside down.. asking me to fall on his hand, only to be greedily consumed..
The anxiety was too much to bear, I had to act.
A man passes between me and the rail.
I simply had to drop kick him over the edge.
The moment he will hit the ground..
Will he make a sound?
...........or even flinch?

Dark Corners of my Eyes

Let it writhe and let it slip
in your bed and in your mind
The dragon's quivering lip
As his coils close to bind

the limbs and soul you gave away
to the serpent in your cresting bed
It bites you, as on his scales you sway
Lulling you to sleep as if dead.

Wake up.. don't die.
Wake up.. don't die.
Don't let it consume you.
Hold on to your flesh.

The sea is treacherous and cold
The serpent floats and grows old
It takes you with it on this wet road
Symbols, Parabolas and Hope.

Live.. don't die
Live.. don't die.
I don't want to die.

Caress me and flay me
A dragon in the sea of my bed
You are an illusion after all
A figment of my troubled head
Forever together we fall.

σελίδα 123, περίοδοι 6, 7 & 8

1, πιάνω το βιβλίο που βρίσκεται πιο κοντά μου: Java με Uml Αντικειμενοστραφής σχεδίαση και προγραμματισμος. Else Lervik - Vergard B. Havdal Εκδόσεις "Κλειδάριθμος"

2, ανοίγω το βιβλίο στη σελίδα 123 [το βιβλίο διαθέτει περισσότερες από 123 σελίδες οπότε δε το αφήνω για το επόμενο κοντινότερο]

3, βρίσκω την 5η περίοδο της σελίδας

4, αντιγράφω τις επόμενες 3 περιόδους [δλδ. την 6η, 7η & 8η]:

Μια δήλωση μεθόδου αποτελείται απο την επικεφαλίδα μεθόδου και το σώμα μεθόδου. Η επικεφαλίδα της μεθόδου είναι οσα προηγούνται του πρώτου αριστερού άγκιστρου {. Το υπόλοιπο της μεθόδου είναι περιεχόμενα της μεθόδου ή απλώς το σώμα της μεθόδου

5, Ευχαριστώ τον φάλτσο για την τηλεφωνική πρόσκληση , και την αδερφή μου για τις σπουδές της στην Εφαρμοσμένη Πληροφορική. Θα φροντίσω να καλέσω τον πρώτο blogger που θα γνωρίσω.

(Diorama - Her Liquid Arms)

.Words In Mono.
.Nonchalant Victim.
.An impasse of memories.

To quote the artist: Hark! It is the beating of his hideous heart.

Crazy eight Walls

Spinning and twisting
little doll , rag doll
Bouncing of walls
little doll , rag doll
Endure and Go on
silly doll , rag doll
Exit your Maze
spinning doll , rag doll
Crazy eight Walls
stupid doll , don't fall
Persevere and Be strong
dreamy doll , raw doll
You built it after all
bite the ball , rag doll

Ode to a drunk puppy.

Today i saw him cast himself away
Broken and dismayed
Discarded, forlorn and blue
to match his eyes and skin
I wish he cried, I wish he screamed
His intoxicated smile and his blush
The bitterness that kept his look
downcast, shame.
I felt special for offering my pity
my shoulder to cry.
He would be all the more beautiful
And i would be all the more pitiful
taking joy from that.
All three of me
scatter and sing
Glass and Broken
Hearts and Youth.

Γιατι;

Quote:

"-Γιατί είναι τόσο σημαντικό για 2 ερωτευμένους το πότε και ποιός θα πει «Σ’αγαπώ»; Γιατί τόση παράνοια για την έκφραση αυτή; Εν τέλει, δεν είναι δύσκολο να αγαπήσεις έναν ξένο που γνωρίζεις καλύτερα σιγά-σιγά, είναι δύσκολο να μην υποχωρήσει το πάθος σου γι’ αυτόν, που με τα τόσο εγωιστικά θέλω του, δεν αφήνει τα σχετικώς ανιδιοτελή συναισθήματα να βγουν στην επιφάνεια."
Μπουζιάνης Παναγιώτης a.k.a Wraithmare, Fubanga

sms 2

Μετά από πολλές ώρες ύπνου ξυπνάω σε ένα καταθλιπτικά ηλιόλουστο πρωινό. Αυτό το έτος έχει την μορφή σκατοστοιβάδας. Όλοι είναι σε χάλια κατάσταση, οι σχέσεις είναι ροδοστολισμένες χρησιμοποιημένες καπότες που έχουν αργήσει και .. oooops ! πρέπει να φύγουν! Τραγουδάνε νησιώτικα με την φωνή του Lenny Kravitz και η παραφωνία τους με κάνει και λυπάμαι. Για μένα, για σένα, για τις τρελές, για τους δαίμονες... του Καρβέλα .. Αν υπάρχουν άγγελοι έχουν πάρει τόσες νυμφεταμίνες που έχουν γίνει ονειροβώροι σαδιστές. Δοξάζω όποιον με εύτιαξε και με έκανε ευέλπιδα αδερφή και δεν θα σταματήσω ποτέ να πιστεύω οτι όλα θα πάνε καλά. Οτι υπάρχει ανταμοιβή για την υπομονή, οτι μια μέρα θα νιώσω οτι δεν θα χρειάζετε να σφίγγω τα δόντια και να κρατάω την ανάσα μου άλλο, ή οτι θα βρω μια αγκαλιά μετά το σεξ.

A perfect.. stranger

A PERFECT CIRCLE LYRICS

"A Stranger"

Cast the calming apple
Up and over satellites
To draw out the timid wild one
To convince you it's alright
And I listen for the whisper
Of your sweet insanity while I formulate
Denials of your affect on me

You're a stranger
So what do I care
You vanish today
Not the first time I hear
All the lies

What am I to do with all this silence
Shy away, shy away phantom
Run away terrified child
Won't you move away you fucking tornado
I'm better off without you
Tearing my will down

A story

Knight rider in the jungle , unarmed
ridingm traveling with destination naught.
Wonder-er lost. Wonderlasted.
Atop her tower, princess laments
She spits the world, she mocks and hacks
and coughs a wind tha spits and douses disease.
Her forlorn and haggard sword
as her only mirror and prism, to gaze criticaly upon her self and others.
Blackened Knight hears her dirge in awe
Bewildered he beckons, bewitched, bearing in his biased brain "Beware!"
Boldly he enters her tower, invited
How can something so fair smell so acrid?
Her hair a loom of dreams.
Her gown made of brimstone, woven on silk and rosepetals.
She served him rot and bile, on porcelain and crystal,
That breathless succubuss unfurled her limbs to the starry-eyed dreamer with the gentle face.
Before the stab he said:
"I want to see you smile."
She kissed his eyelids:
"Best to keep things in a shallow end,
cause i never quite learned how to swim."
That was not true. He knew instantly.
She could swim. Her pain and suffering
emerging from memories of drowning assaulted him,
brought him to his knees.
He wanted to sit with her for days,
to listen to her whine and curses
to dance with her in trance
to sing and compose with her.
To lick her wounds and see her heal.
But he didn't realize he was not the hero.
She was the Arthur of her own England.
She was hard as stone, run-through by
a sword, a sword she could only pull free and allow the wound to heal.
All that was left for him was to move
to her shadow gallery. And become another suitor
waiting for that splendid sword to point him out of the crowd.