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24/12/2011
19/12/2011
The two hemispheres
I take my coffee black, no sugar, no milk, with a splash of cold water at the rim, so I can taste the invigorating aroma that already fills my nostrils without further delay. This is a predictable, self-inflicted habit circa 7.30am on weekdays that exhilarates the mind and triggers the conqueror in me to 'Carpe Diem'.
I applaud simplicity when I see it, I relish it, I revel in it. Nothing simpler than a black cup of coffee. Check.
In a day that could hold many intricate patterns of behaviour, of events, of sequences, of randomness, these will remind you; will jolt your gut, will make you realise that when you strive to control your trepidation to be able to predict situations before they develop, is in fact a justified one. Control, what control? Control of a routine? No, that would be utterly boring, to the point of a predetermined mental death.
However, even in routine, I find consolation in the fact that things can just happen or not, and do or don't so totally beyond my sphere of influence. Although this frequently frustrates the rational, commonsensical hemisphere of my brain, the rash, rebellious, restless hemisphere is in subconscious debauchery.
The battle between these two parts is constant. In conflict, in contrast, what you feel compels you to act, but what you think compels you to hold back.
The battle between these two parts is constant. In conflict, in contrast, what you feel compels you to act, but what you think compels you to hold back.
Driven by a need to feel protected, safe and secure, your choices may lead you to have a comfortable life, with a house overlooking a calm and tranquil lake. Where the water is crystal clear, as glassy as a mirror, and there isn't a ripple in sight. Breathe in, breathe out....yes, how lovely. How long til you suffocate in the want of air, the lack of a wind gust to tickle the water's surface? A throw of a pebble to add to the timid lake-bed below?
How long til you crave the turbulent sea, with its violent crashing waves, its storms, its force, its hidden mystical depths?
How long til you crave the turbulent sea, with its violent crashing waves, its storms, its force, its hidden mystical depths?
Not long...look out for the signals 'you' send up in smoke for 'you' to see.
Ra-Ra
Ra-Ra
"Under water where thoughts can breathe easily
Far away you were made in the sea
Just like me"
"Psychic changes are born in your heart entertain
A nervous breakthrough that makes us the same"
- Red Hot Chilli Peppers
17/11/2011
Words versus Music
What is it about melodised words that get us going? That gets me going? That triggers a strong emotional reaction that the same words, unmarried to a set of notes, may in certain cases leave me, well not indifferent entirely depending on content, but with such a watered down version of the same feeling.
Number one: for sure it’s the Words. The Words create lines of verse in our heads, prose or poetry, other peoples’ thoughts and concerns that form a story every time, that are somewhat open to interpretation within the boundaries the Words themselves set.
Mostly it’s unhappy or distraught stories that make the headlines. And this is a universal truism, universal throughout time and across vast geographical distances. An example is what makes a good successful news story nowadays? Crimes, scandals, disasters and general hardship. Either that or what is increasingly popular is reality TV and celebrity gossip, which serves its purpose to demean the people we ourselves have foolishly put on pedestals. Or to look at past times, open your old History books, they are filled with war, plague, famine, economic crises. The list continues along the same lines.
Let’s face it, writing Black and Gray has always been way hotter than writing Pink and Pop in general. (This is why I have strategically chosen ‘Gray’ as the title of the blog, my ulterior motive is to become popular, famous and to end up being gossiped and traduced by the media of the future, and finally to conquer the world which has been my dream since I was introduced to Nikleodeon’s ‘Brain’ character – I expect a little grin from my readers at this point, am I correct?)
There is something about the bleakness of misery, the agony of pain, the anxiety of distress, the prison of unrequited love that is most popular, because it stirs darker emotions than writing about the eternal sunshine of a happy and gloriously elated mind. Therefore, Dark is Powerful.
Number two: for sure it’s not just the Words. For definite it’s the Music. It has this incredible ability of moving you in deeper levels than any bunch of words could, generally speaking. There are times when you can listen to the intro of a piece and are instantly on board a ship embarking on a journey. A journey that is entirely yours, a journey that does not bound you, a journey that is unchartered. Music has no language, and yet it can so easily ‘talk’ to people of totally different speech patterns and codes.
Number one: for sure it’s the Words. The Words create lines of verse in our heads, prose or poetry, other peoples’ thoughts and concerns that form a story every time, that are somewhat open to interpretation within the boundaries the Words themselves set.
Mostly it’s unhappy or distraught stories that make the headlines. And this is a universal truism, universal throughout time and across vast geographical distances. An example is what makes a good successful news story nowadays? Crimes, scandals, disasters and general hardship. Either that or what is increasingly popular is reality TV and celebrity gossip, which serves its purpose to demean the people we ourselves have foolishly put on pedestals. Or to look at past times, open your old History books, they are filled with war, plague, famine, economic crises. The list continues along the same lines.
Let’s face it, writing Black and Gray has always been way hotter than writing Pink and Pop in general. (This is why I have strategically chosen ‘Gray’ as the title of the blog, my ulterior motive is to become popular, famous and to end up being gossiped and traduced by the media of the future, and finally to conquer the world which has been my dream since I was introduced to Nikleodeon’s ‘Brain’ character – I expect a little grin from my readers at this point, am I correct?)
There is something about the bleakness of misery, the agony of pain, the anxiety of distress, the prison of unrequited love that is most popular, because it stirs darker emotions than writing about the eternal sunshine of a happy and gloriously elated mind. Therefore, Dark is Powerful.
Number two: for sure it’s not just the Words. For definite it’s the Music. It has this incredible ability of moving you in deeper levels than any bunch of words could, generally speaking. There are times when you can listen to the intro of a piece and are instantly on board a ship embarking on a journey. A journey that is entirely yours, a journey that does not bound you, a journey that is unchartered. Music has no language, and yet it can so easily ‘talk’ to people of totally different speech patterns and codes.
OK I should not diss the Words. I like words, since I am not a musician or an artist, they are the only form of expression I have. All forms of creativity and of expression are powerful. Its about creating something that emanates from within, that only the initial soul can feel, that can then be tangible to others in one of the five senses.
I actually revere the Words. It’s just that yesterday, although I felt totally immune and impenetrable to certain set of them, I broke at the sounding of the Music.
I actually revere the Words. It’s just that yesterday, although I felt totally immune and impenetrable to certain set of them, I broke at the sounding of the Music.
I take my previous contemptuous judgment away with me and leave you with this:
Listen to the Words or Music that fill your soul, that speak from your heart to your mind.
“You don't have a soul. You are a soul. You have a body.”
― C.S. Lewis.
15/11/2011
13/11/2011
Trainspotted
Last night I dreamt of trains; of the past and of the present. No, my subconscious was not preoccupied by the ones of the future and that is not without meaning.
Steam locomotive hauled cargo-bourn squealers and bogies, passenger carrying luxury carriages with all the long-gone glitz and glamour of another era.
Then the Metropolitan tube-type ones that converge and disperse forming underground labyrinths that connect the bustling city above, the grande vitesse ones travelling at phenomenal speeds from one end of the country to the other.
Steam locomotive hauled cargo-bourn squealers and bogies, passenger carrying luxury carriages with all the long-gone glitz and glamour of another era.
Then the Metropolitan tube-type ones that converge and disperse forming underground labyrinths that connect the bustling city above, the grande vitesse ones travelling at phenomenal speeds from one end of the country to the other.
“Life is a train of moods like a string of beads; and as we pass through them they prove to be many colored lenses, which paint the world their own hue, and each shows us only what lies in its own focus.” - Ralph Waldo Emerson.
I remember enjoying the scenery whilst sipping on mint tea in the velvet-dressed dining car of the Orient Express (not to be confused with the Venice Simplon OE that continues to run). I was being softly lulled by the rattling and rocking of the rail joints every now and again. The only annoyance was the constant giggling of a lady whom I could not see from my window seat and the occasional thick cloud of smoke that exuded from a co-passengers’ cigar. Waving it away, I notice my sleeve and then I glance down at my chest. I am wearing Elsa Schiaparelli chiffon and I can smell the unmistakable no. 5. The year is 1929 as far as I can discern from a neglected newspaper across the next dining table; my accent suggests I am British and I have just overheard that the journey of the carriage is London-Paris-Constantinople.
At the realization of this new found identity, the smell, the sound and the feel of my surroundings start to change; I am on a platform with a map in my hand while people, voices and vibrations are spinning around me. There is brick and metal, and addlepated souls, shifting from one line to another in a frantic dance. Their faces are indifferent, critical, livid and unwelcoming, and they blur in and out of focus; and then I get the sense that I am lost, I am actually totally unaware of where I am.
At the realization of this new found identity, the smell, the sound and the feel of my surroundings start to change; I am on a platform with a map in my hand while people, voices and vibrations are spinning around me. There is brick and metal, and addlepated souls, shifting from one line to another in a frantic dance. Their faces are indifferent, critical, livid and unwelcoming, and they blur in and out of focus; and then I get the sense that I am lost, I am actually totally unaware of where I am.
You are now permitted to panic.
Look at the map!
Concentrate, and look at your map. Where was it you were going? Think!
No that is a difficult one, let’s try: where are you now? Perhaps that is an easier one to crack.
The sign on the platform says ‘Gare du Nord’ and it begins to become clearer now. Paris.
I suddenly have an unsettling feeling that I do not have my 3.20Euro billet and 4 persons in green outfits have locked me in target from the furthest end of the platform. Damn, I could have sworn I am not responsible for this predicament! There must be someone else to blame, but not enough time to be playing ‘Point the Finger’. The only escape route is to get in to the approaching train. Success, but 50euro shorter in self-respect.
So I guess I should be headed for Constantinople, but I would much rather travel by sea there. The Bosporus gleaming, the gulls squawking, hovering over the waters’ surface hoping for a careless shallow swimmer. But that is not my destination, I have been there before, I have tasted its offerings, and seen its sights, it cannot be that I should be returning.
Blank.
The dream ends and I am left with a poignant thought: a comfortable past, a disheveled present, and no insight of the future. I guess that makes it much more exciting, don’t you? :)
Look at the map!
Concentrate, and look at your map. Where was it you were going? Think!
No that is a difficult one, let’s try: where are you now? Perhaps that is an easier one to crack.
The sign on the platform says ‘Gare du Nord’ and it begins to become clearer now. Paris.
I suddenly have an unsettling feeling that I do not have my 3.20Euro billet and 4 persons in green outfits have locked me in target from the furthest end of the platform. Damn, I could have sworn I am not responsible for this predicament! There must be someone else to blame, but not enough time to be playing ‘Point the Finger’. The only escape route is to get in to the approaching train. Success, but 50euro shorter in self-respect.
So I guess I should be headed for Constantinople, but I would much rather travel by sea there. The Bosporus gleaming, the gulls squawking, hovering over the waters’ surface hoping for a careless shallow swimmer. But that is not my destination, I have been there before, I have tasted its offerings, and seen its sights, it cannot be that I should be returning.
Blank.
The dream ends and I am left with a poignant thought: a comfortable past, a disheveled present, and no insight of the future. I guess that makes it much more exciting, don’t you? :)
11/11/2011
The Waiting, The Waking, The Calling...
Tense as if your muscles are on constant strain
Blank as if your mind is empty
Numb as if your soul has been decanted
And you wait, in the waking
Perched on your seat,
Grabbing the armrests with all your fingers' might
And still you wait, at the most awkward hour of the day
Waiting for the calling of the darkest hour when its' clear
There is clarity in the dark, in the night,
In the comfort of the silver anti-sun
It's beams, they guide your senses and dissolve all fences
When you realise, you digest, you no longer resist
That you are indeed a child of the night.
If you listen closely, you will hear, they are calling for you.
Wake up the ghouls of Halloween, that have fallen in slumber again, tonight!
You will not see them, you will feel them.
'The most beautiful things in life are the things you cannot see.
That's why you close your eyes when you cry, when you dream and when you sleep.'
09/11/2011
The Disadvantages of a Multi-Cultural Nature
Dear Gray
10 years ago, if I would have thought about it consciously, I would have concluded that I should consider myself amongst the lucky ones of my generation.
Born in dual nationality, that meant I was bilingual before I went to primary school. Attending a British school, I was exposed to students from a multitude of nationalities and cultures. This made me tolerant, seeing the endearing charm of personalities from different backgrounds, however this also cultivated a thirst within me to learn more and more. I guess this is the backbone of why I enjoy travelling as much as I do, when the means allow.
At 18 I arrived in Southampton, UK in the midst of a Gray October; oh what a glorious first semester that was! I learned about Law & Politics, about my coeval Brit students, their alcohol thresholds and their nutritional choices (cereal, butter on toast, and kebabs make the Top 10 any day, any time), about how the University gives you every opportunity to fail, about boys versus men, about how you can find something that is 110% right for you, but in another point of your life.
Over the years I met many people from different backgrounds, people with different ‘tastes’ in music, in food, in forms of entertainment, I completed my Politics degree, I took on 3 different jobs before ‘landing’ at the Airport where I stayed for a total of 3 years. I enjoyed every bit of my stay abroad, maybe less towards June 2009 when I had made a decision that I did not want to turn into a plant from the overly wet wet weather of the UK.
I craved the sun, the warmth, the rhythm and beat of Athens once again. Little did I know that my timing to pack my 22 boxes and 7 suitcases was far from a welcoming one.
10 years ago, if I would have thought about it consciously, I would have concluded that I should consider myself amongst the lucky ones of my generation.
Born in dual nationality, that meant I was bilingual before I went to primary school. Attending a British school, I was exposed to students from a multitude of nationalities and cultures. This made me tolerant, seeing the endearing charm of personalities from different backgrounds, however this also cultivated a thirst within me to learn more and more. I guess this is the backbone of why I enjoy travelling as much as I do, when the means allow.
At 18 I arrived in Southampton, UK in the midst of a Gray October; oh what a glorious first semester that was! I learned about Law & Politics, about my coeval Brit students, their alcohol thresholds and their nutritional choices (cereal, butter on toast, and kebabs make the Top 10 any day, any time), about how the University gives you every opportunity to fail, about boys versus men, about how you can find something that is 110% right for you, but in another point of your life.
Over the years I met many people from different backgrounds, people with different ‘tastes’ in music, in food, in forms of entertainment, I completed my Politics degree, I took on 3 different jobs before ‘landing’ at the Airport where I stayed for a total of 3 years. I enjoyed every bit of my stay abroad, maybe less towards June 2009 when I had made a decision that I did not want to turn into a plant from the overly wet wet weather of the UK.
I craved the sun, the warmth, the rhythm and beat of Athens once again. Little did I know that my timing to pack my 22 boxes and 7 suitcases was far from a welcoming one.
All Hell broke loose! And I use Hell as a figure of speech as I am quite convinced that the souls in Hell get lost in rockin’ revelry whilst head-banging to Black Label Society’s ‘Suicide Messiah’ as opposed to the souls in Heaven that stare into the vastness of green, moist, dewy meadow. Yuck!
Slowly the reality of a degenerated Athens kicks in. Corruption to the core, fuelled and propagated by the ways of governments since the fall of the junta in the 70’s, is the dance of the Greek. Nothing can be done unless you have the ‘connais’ in French meaning ‘knowing’ but in the Greek context it actually refers to ‘the right person, in the right place’ who, of course, will do you a favour or a ‘rousfeti’ in exchange for…well, let’s not generalise , every deed has it’s own ‘price’.
Yes, it was about time to set things right. Expose the system, cut the incessant spending, sew up the long pockets, and drain the culprits, at least those who have been named as having taken part in politico-economic scandals. The equation to solve the 'Greek-Guck' has an inherent flaw; no, not one, actually many, and the result is that the public is experiencing civil unrest. Protests, riots, injuries, deaths, smoke devices and rocks, police clubs and guns, molotofs and hooded agent provocateurs parade on the global news, as our central square is the battlefield where the general public collides with the servants of power.
Slowly the reality of a degenerated Athens kicks in. Corruption to the core, fuelled and propagated by the ways of governments since the fall of the junta in the 70’s, is the dance of the Greek. Nothing can be done unless you have the ‘connais’ in French meaning ‘knowing’ but in the Greek context it actually refers to ‘the right person, in the right place’ who, of course, will do you a favour or a ‘rousfeti’ in exchange for…well, let’s not generalise , every deed has it’s own ‘price’.
Yes, it was about time to set things right. Expose the system, cut the incessant spending, sew up the long pockets, and drain the culprits, at least those who have been named as having taken part in politico-economic scandals. The equation to solve the 'Greek-Guck' has an inherent flaw; no, not one, actually many, and the result is that the public is experiencing civil unrest. Protests, riots, injuries, deaths, smoke devices and rocks, police clubs and guns, molotofs and hooded agent provocateurs parade on the global news, as our central square is the battlefield where the general public collides with the servants of power.
The International Monetary Fund and Democracy are large words, both meanings and motives of which have been questioned in our time. One thing is for certain: things are going to get a whole lot worse before they can get any better. Cruel times call for tight measures and Greeks do not mix well with ‘tightness’. The easy prediction is that life in this country will gradually become more and more constricting, oppressive, bleak and dangerous as the lack of cash flow will not immediately result in people becoming OK about living with less, and thus re-defining the poverty level , but rather resorting to criminal activity to sustain the remnants of a previous comfortable lifestyle.
People do not favour limitations; restrictions constrict our being, they baffle the mind, and curb creativity. The control they levy on emotions, on thoughts, on actions is frightening and a riotous assembly of temptation emerges; temptation to break free, to be unbound by rules, regulations, and the shackles of society. History is full of incidents where people strive to protect their freedom, to widen their borders, to be free from oppression.
People do not favour limitations; restrictions constrict our being, they baffle the mind, and curb creativity. The control they levy on emotions, on thoughts, on actions is frightening and a riotous assembly of temptation emerges; temptation to break free, to be unbound by rules, regulations, and the shackles of society. History is full of incidents where people strive to protect their freedom, to widen their borders, to be free from oppression.
So, how can one aspire to thrive in the bleakness of this prospect? I welcome suggestions. The only thing that comes to my mind is that I envy the cockroach that apparently is the most resilient creature known to man.
No, I do not want to envy a cockroach.
No, I do not want to envy a cockroach.
The future is Gray. I feel a hemp rope like a lasso tightening around me; its radius is approximately 1 meter away, and at its centre, me. It’s still not within my grasp, but I can see it, it no longer is invisible.
What will it take for me to take me life into my hands and make a gamble of it with the aspiration of investing in a brighter, more appealing future than the bleakness that surrounds me? Am I a gambler? No, I wouldn’t say so. Or at least I’m not a sober one. I want to do everything and anything, I want to suck the marrow out of life, to create, to leave something behind, to do good or bad, but do something! My high-school teacher once wrote in my yearbook: “The world is your oyster”. Agreed. But I think I’ve been eating the wrong kind. You know, the ones that give you the stomach flu. Where do I begin, this search of the oyster? This pursuit of happiness?
Damn my multicultural nature, I am not happy having seen a glimpse of the world and having to feel restricted in my motherland, yet to start afresh is a gamble I am yet too ‘poultry’ to take, the main reason being that the depression is global and not specific to Greece.
In addition to envying the cockroach, I also envy Dostoyevsky’s ‘Idiot’: in a world obsessed with money, power, and sexual conquest, a sanatorium may be the only safe place. Grab your straight-jackets, my generation, and let us march. Destination Unknown.
x Rarachka x
Damn my multicultural nature, I am not happy having seen a glimpse of the world and having to feel restricted in my motherland, yet to start afresh is a gamble I am yet too ‘poultry’ to take, the main reason being that the depression is global and not specific to Greece.
In addition to envying the cockroach, I also envy Dostoyevsky’s ‘Idiot’: in a world obsessed with money, power, and sexual conquest, a sanatorium may be the only safe place. Grab your straight-jackets, my generation, and let us march. Destination Unknown.
x Rarachka x
Crawl through the flames that eat your flesh
Drowned in my waters that know you best
Step inside I've been waiting here for you
on your knees where you shall crawl
Flying so high you'll never fall
Step inside we've been waiting here for you
Bow down you've chose your maker
He never gives he's always the taker
The electric burns that fuel the fire
It's just your suicide messiah
Oh Yeah
Oh Yeah
Walk through the streets that know your name
All that's pure is now insane
Step inside I've been waiting here for you
Another trip another lie
Lifes hand of doom has you feeling fine
Step inside we've been waiting here for you
Bow down you chose your maker
He never gives he's always the taker
The electric burns that fuel the fire
Drowned in my waters that know you best
Step inside I've been waiting here for you
on your knees where you shall crawl
Flying so high you'll never fall
Step inside we've been waiting here for you
Bow down you've chose your maker
He never gives he's always the taker
The electric burns that fuel the fire
It's just your suicide messiah
Oh Yeah
Oh Yeah
Walk through the streets that know your name
All that's pure is now insane
Step inside I've been waiting here for you
Another trip another lie
Lifes hand of doom has you feeling fine
Step inside we've been waiting here for you
Bow down you chose your maker
He never gives he's always the taker
The electric burns that fuel the fire
Everything Goes Gray...
There comes a moment in one's life, a moment of vision, a moment when you feel a need to become that something you were always kind of too scared to be, a moment of clarity if you will, a moment when your insides compel you to face the world, all its shades, all its textures, its sounds, its colours.
This is no such moment.
To put it plainly, this 'moment' has been spurred by nothing of the above. It is not that time just yet.
This is an attempt to seek out the Gray in life.
The Gray Notes are born.
This is no such moment.
To put it plainly, this 'moment' has been spurred by nothing of the above. It is not that time just yet.
This is an attempt to seek out the Gray in life.
The Gray Notes are born.
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