houses get old and die
almost everyday i hear of houses that fall to the ground
like sleeping giants. They turn into dust.
there is no use for them
and the economic disaster makes it impossible to save them.
we are poor we are devastated
not only do we lack the means to relate to the past
we do not know how we do not understand why.
we are too old also too young
doomed to die through our rebirth as primitives.
clumsy message in a blog
by the way,
what of the extinction of colour?
colour which is the cultural representation of what we mean
through its absorbency
does it mature?
once again, greeks stand inbetween
indifferently staring into the void
it seems we cannot live (any longer) by any colour extreme
we cannot experience it trully
nor can we recognize the subtle hues the tranquility and intensity
of the non-colour. It is embarrassing.
Only yesterday our grandmothers painted their houses pink and green and created rugs in all colours (together)
only yesterday they painted streets white, it was a preparation for every big fest
(and were dressed in black as a remembrance of our nature and ancestors)
they seemed to know when to paint in colour, when to rely on whiteness' usefulness, how to stand on the ground and under the sun.
skies and seas;
clouds in trousers really?
our change of form constantly kept out of sight
is slight like skies'
moving immobility in time and
changeable stability through time;
are we trees through seasons?
there has never been a 'we'
just like there has never been an 'i'
it is about the air inhaled the air exhaled
what greeks have called 'ψυχή'
εμψυχωμένα δέντρα σύννεφα μορφές ανακινήσεως του αέρα
και αναδεύσεως του νερού
βόρβοροι στατικοί σε πηγάδια
σταμνιά σπασμένα κεντριά θανατερά
και πηγές μορφωμένες σε υπέργεια δάση
ps. for anyone interested, i send a link to a poem that's been missed: here.
(perhaps here, here, too)