Our story

The story of what could have been, the story of sliding doors and the story of a parallel universe, the story of imperfect timing, and the story of absolutely perfect timing, the story of being too scared to change and move one, the story of ‘at first sight’, the story of Reagents park and the story of Peter Pan and that phone call on New Years right after midnight, the story of loosing my most beloved Grandmother yet not being sad, the story of quite nights and the story of your breath on my face at that moment and the story of dancing and drinking and carrying you in my arms, the story of airports and letters and lunch breaks and not showing up and betraying and leaving and coming back and then leaving again forever. And the story of starting our lives on the same day on a different island.  Ultimately,  the story of buried memories and feelings that refuse to go quietly. That’s our story.   

On Saturday the sky was dark and gloomy. You were half an hour late but lovingly apologetic. It did not happen as it does in the movies. It took us a few minutes or so before we got comfortable with each other. Our faces looked a little older. The eyes did not. Just as you promised we walked all around the city. I took you to all my favorite places. You know what; I don’t care what anybody says. This is a great city. I love it. It just breathes life into me. This you did not like, still you just smiled and held my hand.

On Sunday it was crystal clear and freezing. I missed you. It was only when I gazed at your face in the light of the sun, I came to grips with that. The sound of the cracking leafs underneath our feet echoed like a Van Morrison song.

On Monday morning I woke up early, made myself a sandwich for lunch and walked to work. At around noon I was asked to go up to the top floor to pick up a misplaced letter addressed to me. The lift was busy and I decided to take the stairs. As I looked outside the window I noticed a single pink flower that had grown in the roof terrace of the adjacent building. I must have been the first and probably the only person to have seen it. It seemed peaceful and quiet, grown out of nothing in a place where nobody would ever be able to touch it. I stood there and stared at it. Just a lonely flower hidden from the world.

I looked at her and said “The Gods would envy us if they could see us now”
“What makes you think they can’t see us?”
“Because there‘s you and me and nothing else exists outside this room right now...”
She looked at me only for a moment and then she started laughing. She leaned her head backwards, caressed her hair with her hand and lit up a cigarette. Smoke slowly filled the room as she stared quietly at the ceiling.

Artwork by Athena K.

Starry starry night: a short story

So here’s the thing. I did not get to where I am today by being nice. I mean in this line of work you have to step over people and you have to do what is necessary for you to progress, and be recognized, be respected. I like that, the respect, I like walking into a congress room and everyone knowing who I am. The big-shot, the high-flyer, the guy who publishes week after week in the best journals. And yes, I had to make sacrifices; I had to compromise my personal life for my work. And now I have come to terms with this fact and I am absolutely OK with it. I remember when I was younger and I was staring at these big-name Professors in amazement and yes, a bit of jealousy. But I always knew I wanted to be like them, no, no I wanted to be better than them. And now here I am. At the top of my game earlier than anyone expected me to. And fuck yeah, I am enjoying this.
But here is this other thing though, now that I am lying here in the sand, darkness all around me and nothing but a rich, silver sky above me, mentally exhausted after these past 24hrs I have come to an absolute realization…


24hrs earlier.

We landed at San Diego international airport on time. As soon as I walked out of the terminal the hot sticky atmosphere grabbed me by the throat. I jumped in a cab and went straight for the hotel. It was one of these ‘Spa’ places in the middle of nowhere, mainly occupied by people attending business meetings and random stress-freaks trying to find their inner peace. I left my luggage in my room and went for a walk. The front part of it was literally ‘hanging’ from a cliff overlooking the ocean. Bathed in a glorious sunshine I looked at the open water in front of me and closed my eyes just for a second. The place felt strangely mystical.
I was due to give the keynote address of the meeting at exactly 7 pm, followed by an open discussion and a wine reception. Everything went rather smoothly, I got a standing innovation from what appeared to be an impressed audience and then people gave me the ‘I have been admiring your work for years’ treatment in private conversations amid cocktails and uncomfortable silences.
“That was a great talk, James as always!”
“Thank you, I appreciate that.”
“I was wondering about the whole-genome approach that you took towards interpreting the phenotype?”
“Yes, what about exactly?”
“Well is that the …..” and then I drifted off. As this man was standing in front of me mumbling about cells and tissues and in vivo experiments I started thinking about…well about the summers. Don’t ask me why, I mean, I guess maybe it was the happiest I have ever been and maybe now… Well anyway, the summers when I was still a boy, the taste of cold, sweat watermelon and the taste of seawater, the cool breeze of the afternoon sitting in the shade and the..
“So you do agree with me? Professor Hunter?” I hadn’t the faintest clue what this guy was talking about. In fact I couldn’t even remember his name. However I could still bullshit my way out of this situation anyway.
“Well, eeh yes, in principal I do agree”
“Well, that’s great then! Shall we talk some more?”
Shit! I thought to myself. “Yes, of course, do you mind if we get a drink first?”
“No not at all, what a great idea.”
Shit again, there is no way I am getting rid of this guy is there? As we made our way through the hotel I caught a glance of a figure that seemed strangely familiar to me. He was over at the other side of a crowded lobby with his back turned towards me chatting to a woman. He was dressed exactly like me. Dark trousers, blue navy shirt, perfectly groomed hair, exactly like mine. How fucking odd? I stopped to get a better look when a group of German business men walked right in front of me and then he was gone. Both him and the woman.
“Professor? Is everything OK?” Unfortunately the ‘I am so interested in your work guy’ was still there with me.
“Yes, I am fine” I said.
“I believe the wine reception is that way”.

The reception was awfully boring. A bunch of unsuccessful, underperforming phonies exchanging useless remarks. I shouldn’t even be here. How could these people think in was actually interested in hearing what they had to say about my work. All I could think of was this strange man. The other me. I just bullshitted my way through the evening and pretended I was suffering from jet-lag and got myself out of there as soon as I could.

A few minutes later I found myself at the hotel bar. I was deeply troubled and felt like having another drink. The place was half-empty, a fairly gifted piano player gave it a cozy, warm feeling while the bartender was incredibly polite and bored at the same time. I sat by myself on a stool at the end of the bar, ordered a Jameson on the rocks and tried to relax. Who the hell was that man? Was it just a coincidence that he looked exactly like me? Maybe I was overreacting, I mean at the end of the day I did not manage to get a descent look at him.
“Hi”
Shit! It was the woman that I had seen speaking with him earlier; she was now sitting next to me at the bar. She was in her mid-thirties, firm, tanned body, blond hair, huge fake boobs and a mysterious smokey voice.
“Hello” I said back.
“I was just about to go; you were so late I thought you were not going to come”
“Excuse me?”
“Are you trying to avoid me James?”
“Well, no not really, but how do you know my name?”
“What do you mean? Is this another one of your games? Strangers meeting in the bar? I thought we already played that game last night. Let’s just get down straight to the sex part tonight, shall we?”
“Well, aah..that would be nice I guess but I think you have mistaken me for someone else.”
“But your name is James is not?”
“Well, my name is James, but I did not play games with you last night and I most certainly did not have sex with you. Trust me, I would remember.”
“Look, if you don’t want to see me again then its fine!” She got up and turned around to leave when I grabbed her by the arm.
“No wait, its not fine, listen, this guy that you met last night, his name was James?”
“Well, that’s how you introduced yourself!”
“Right, and did he….or I tell you what I do?”
“You said you were a hot shot scientist or something. Listen, are you sick or something? ”
“No, well I think someone is playing a game with me.”
“Whatever, I ‘m off”
“Wait, can I ask you one more thing?”
“What now?”
“Was I ….at least good in bed?”
“Jesus, you are weird…Well for what it’s worth, you thought you were great, but you were pretty average”
And then she left. Was I loosing my mind? Is it possible that someone else so similar to me exists? How fucking special does that make me then? I ordered myself another drink and tried to go over my conversation with the strange blond. Apparently a guy with my name, doing my job is walking around in this strange place. Was that the guy I had seen earlier? Maybe I should ask the piano player to play me the theme from the twilight zone. It surely felt like I was in it.
Instead, the piano player started playing this jazzy tune that sounded strangely familiar to me. Yeah, it was a Charlie Mingus tune that I had not heard for a long time, called “Orange was the color of her dress, then blue silk”, used to be one of my favorites. I turned around to look at him and there he was, the strange other me with his back turned was chatting to the piano player. I got up and went straight for him but before I got there he walked outside.
“Hey!” he did not stop, did not even turn around. I turned around to the piano player.
“Sorry, this tune that you are playing now? Why are you playing it?”
“Well Sir, didn’t you just ask me to? You said it was one of your favorites”
I stormed outside and run after him, i turned right at the corridor and ended up in the hotel lobby. It was busy again, I had a look through the crowd and caught and glimpse of him going into the men’s room. I pushed people aside and kicked the door open.
“Hey! who the hell are you man? Why are you pretending to be me?” I shouted. When he turned around I realized this was the wrong guy.
“What did you say?”
“Ohh, shit, sorry, I was just looking at you and..”
“What? Are you a fucking pervert or something?”
“No, no….i just..”
“What are you doing staring at me while I am taking a piss?”
“No you see I thought you were someone else”
“You are a pervert aren’t you?”
“Oh shut up you big, stupid fuck, I mistook you for someone else!” And that’s when he punched me. I fell on the floor, nose bleeding. I felt helpless. What is happening to me? A few hours ago I was the whole lot, successful, brilliant, unique. And yet now I don’t even know who I am anymore. What is it that that defines me? Work, the way I look? My head felt heavy. I fell asleep and dreamed about the summers.

I don’t know how long I was lying there but when I woke up, my nose hurt like hell. I got up and washed my face clean. I tried not to look my self in the mirror. I just stood there, with nothing but the noise of the water dripping in the sink, echoing in an empty, white-clean toilet of a spa-hotel in southern California. A man walked in and gave ma a weird look. Time to go.
And that’s when it happened, I got out of the toilet and there he was. Standing right in front of me. That’s when I came face to face with my self. I was stunned, speechless, the clothes, the face, the way he was looking at me. The eyes…I looked straight into those eyes and felt like I was falling down a deep, empty bottomless well. Freefalling.
He looked back at me and gave me a hint of a smile. Then he turned around, walked out of the door and I watched him through the glass as he got into a brilliant-white convertible and drove away. What was there to smile about?
I stood there motionless, until the man that had given me the weird look a few moments before in the toilet gave me another one as he was getting out. I pulled myself together and started walking. I got out of the hotel. It was a beautiful night, no moon the sky was painted with myriads of silver stars. The cool ocean breeze comforted my shocked face. I walked towards the beach, leaving the distant sound of a group of people laughing joyfully behind me. I walked and walked along the sea until I felt like lying down. It was so peaceful, like the summers when I was just a little boy…

Maybe this ghost of mine was not real…maybe I created him…

Anyway like I said in the beginning, lying here in the sand, looking at the starry sky above me I have come to a moment of clarity. I absolutely conceive how vast and endless the universe is. I really do. I really, really do. What an awfully beautiful waste of space…spreads all around my tiny, insignificantly existence. I guess there are ways of making it significant and unique. Maybe I have just forgotten how to do that.
Funnily enough all I can think of is that Don Mclean song. The one about the Van Gogh painting, how does it go exactly? I can’t quite remember the lyrics but something along these lines…


“Starry
starry night

look out on a summer's day
with eyes that know the
darkness in my soul.

And now I understand what you tried to say to me

how you tried to set them free.
They would not listen
they did not know how

perhaps they'll listen now.”

Shit…I need to start listening to music again.

THE END

dream sequence #5

Dreams are like memories that have lost their way home.
However,
memories of her leave white, shining marbles behind and always find their way back.

Τα ονειρα ειναι αναμνησεις που εχουν χασει τον δρομο τους.
Οι δικες τις αναμνησεις ομως σκορπανε λευκες ελαφροπετρες που φεγγουν στο σκοταδι και παντα βρισκουν το δρομο πισω.

‘Orange was the colour of her dress, then blue silk’


A Short Story
By EK

# 1

Nola opened her eyes instinctively just after seven o’clock only to realise that this was not her bed. She stood up and looked around. He was still fast asleep. She got up quietly put on her orange dress and closed the bedroom door behind her. The living room was spacious and opened up to a big window overlooking the street outside. Two half-empty glasses of wine were laying on the table next to a silver ashtray full of cigarette buts. One of the glasses had her lipstick marks on its tip. He head felt heavy; suddenly she wanted to know the exact time of day, and day of the week and even month and year of her life. She went by the window and leaned her head over to the glass. A suited man got into his car, slowly un-parked and drove off. Nola looked at the large empty parking space and started crying.

As she was leaving, she stopped and stood by the doorway to look up in the sky. It was a clear sunny morning.

# 2

Sun has given its way to rain. It is absolutely pouring it down and she is running n down the street. She is soaked, her hair is wet and sticky; her dress almost transparent; you can see the lining of her hips and the shape of her beautiful breasts. And she is carrying shopping bags, loads of them. Her legs are delicate and a small pond of rain-water forms around them as she walks into the coffee shop. First thing she does, takes a pack of smokes out of her tiny bag and lights up a cigarette. I mean she does not even look around. She has no acknowledgement for anyone else. She is looking outside where the rain keeps falling and people keep running. A few minutes pass like this. Quietly people are staring at the rain outside. Its sound is arguing with the music coming from the shop’s old stereo. Then she slowly turns around, picks up her bags and walks over to the counter. A cup of steaming coffee is what she is having, and another cigarette. It had been such a warm, sunny afternoon she is thinking, she despises rain. Romantic-dreamer’s stuff, that’s what she thinks about rain. Herself is not into romance; her heart was once broken by a romantic dreamer you see. Now it’s all about different things.
What if she is actually only pretending to hate rain and fairy-tale stuff? No, it can’t be. Charles spots a gentle whisper of sadness floating around her exquisite face.Suddenly the rain stops and the sun is back at all its glory. She stands up and walks out the door. Just like that. She has not even touched her coffee.

As she is passing by the window the sun strokes her from the side. She is wearing blue silk underwear, underneath her orange summer dress.
Charles is sitting at the corner, by the window thinking about jazz. He feels inspired by her. He takes out a notebook and starts putting down musical notes. Notes that reflect sudden changes, like carelessly strolling under the sun then suddenly running through thick autumn raindrops. Sun appears, and then disappears only for rain to follow again. It’s all tense but beautiful. Then she enters and the notes calm down as a gentle piano melody caresses her eyes and flows down her neck and then hips and legs only to land on the tiny pond of raindrops underneath her feet. Her beauty now takes total control of the piano that is waiting to speak out at the end of Charles hand and draws out herself. Then come the thoughts, his and hers intertwined and gradually the tempo rises as she refuses to accept that she actually loves the rain! Or maybe not. It’s a struggle of one end of the piano with the other, notes flying back and forth; could she be like him or has she forgotten how to fall in love? The piano does not have time to answer as she gets up and walks out, the sun is out again and as it caresses her a sad, whispery melody is born and immediately lays to rest in Charles notebook. He closes it and smiles. He gets up and walks out of the door. It smells like rain.

# 3

The blue parrot is a small jazz club in downtown Manhattan. It was established in 1959 when Jazz burst into the music scene and was flourishing in similar small bars all around New York. During its golden years in was a good club that regularly hosted some legendary acts including Theolonius Monk and Dexter Gordon. It is safe to say that it has known better days. The sole proprietor of the Blue Parrot is an otherwise ordinary Japanese man that comes by the name of Ioko. The circumstances under which the ownership of the place was passed onto Ioko remain somewhat mysterious but needless to say he has an unrequited passion for Jazz. He is also a fair boss. Ioko arrives at the club every night around eight. After making sure everything is running smoothly he has a habit of sitting at the end of the bar sipping whisky and eating peanuts, quietly overlooking things. Charles plays piano at the Blue Parrot four times a week but Wednesdays are his favourite nights. Especially when it rains. Ioko likes Charles’s gentle piano-playing style and is especially fond of the melancholic tunes that Charles comes up with, especially on Wednesday nights.
The place was almost full, buzzing with life. Couples having intimate conversations gently sipping their drinks under the candlelight, tourists enjoying un-pronounceable cocktails stuffed with tiny paper umbrellas, loners lost in their thoughts and groups of careless friends. As Charles was getting ready to come on he was sitting at a small table on the left side of the stage enjoying a playful version of ‘Staircase to the Sky’ brought to life by the Mat Patheny trio. Ioko waved at him with a delicate movement of his hand to come over.
‘What’s up boss?’ Charles asked as he stood next to Ioko at the end of the bar.
‘Come, sit next to me. What do you think of Mat?’ he asked. ‘I must have heard that tune a million times, but nobody does the solo trumpet just like Mat ahh?’
‘He does have his way, that much is true.’ Charles turned around to look at the stage when he noticed she was seating at the bar. It was her. Just sitting at the Blue Parrot bar having a drink with a guy. Charles looked at her and smiled. ‘You know something Boss? Life has a funny way of showing off how kind it may be sometimes.’
Ioko looked at Charles and then looked at her and said nothing. He was not a man who liked to mix up in other people’s business.
Charles grabbed a box of matches and a pen from the bar. He flipped open the cover and inside he wrote his name, a place, a day and a time. He then walked straight up to her and as she was taking a cigarette out of a packet he gave her the matches looked at her straight in the eyes and then whispered something in her ear. Nola said nothing back. Not even when her date asked her what it was that the piano player had told her. She stayed until closing time drinking gin ‘n tonics pretending not to be paying attention at the music. That night Charles played exceptionally well.

# 4

‘So what the fuck am I doing here?’ Nola said as she sat directly opposite Charles near the window. It was the same window where he first saw her.
‘Don’t ask me that question.’
‘Why not?’
‘I can’t answer that for you.’
‘I thought you had all the answers.’
‘Well, you thought wrong. Do you drink coffee?’
‘I guess I do.’ Charles remained annoyingly peaceful. He kept his eyes on Nola’s face. He studied every single aspect of her face. After all, it was an exquisite face. ‘I mean I would if I stayed.’
‘Stay.’
Nola looked outside. People where flooding the streets. People with briefcases, shopping bags and mobile phones rushing off to somewhere important. She turned around and said ‘So your name is Charlie and you play the piano ehh?’
‘That’s right’
‘What else do you do then?’
‘I watch old black & white films. Any kind but Westerns are my favourite kind. Especially old John Ford- Westerns.’
‘Why Westerns?’
‘I don’t know really, I like vast open plains. That huge emptiness of the country, the true freedom. The sense that one can truly control their fate even if it is by holding a gun.’
The waitress approached the table behind Charles and looked at Nola. ‘Can I get you anything to drink mam?’
‘Black coffee’ she gently whispered. She took a pack of smokes out and lit one.
‘The world’s not black & white anymore Charlie’
‘I know, it seems there aren’t any vast open spaces left either. But you can still carry a gun at least.’ Nola smiled. She suddenly felt comfortable, relaxed. Charlie seemed to transpire to her a certain calmness she had not felt for a long time.
‘So how come you became a piano player?’
‘I played the piano forever but I always did it on the side. Then a few years back something happened to me. I returned home one night to find a fire had burned down the building where I lived. I was left with nothing. All my belongings were gone. Right there and then I thought about what it was in my life that defined me. And that was playing the piano, not a lot else.’
And so they went on talking. She did not say a lot, but she liked what she was hearing. What was it that defined her? What where the simple yet so important traits that defined who she really was? Charles kept looking at her straight in the eyes throughout. Maybe just maybe, it could be this piano player she was having coffee with.

# 5

Nola walked in the 7-11 shop sometime after 10.30 to buy milk and cigarettes. An orange fluorescence sign indicating ‘OPEN ALL NIGHT’ was flashing at the front of the shop, the ill-fated light reflecting inside. As she walked past the corridor with the DVDs she stopped to have a look. Five minutes later she picked out a film and walked over to pay. The Indian man behind the counter smiled at her when he saw the DVD and said ‘That’s a good choice!’ ‘Thanks!’ She replied smiling back. At that exact point Nola felt happy, she felt in total control of her life. Then, a hooded young man holding a shotgun burst into the shop shouting. The Indian man pulled a gun he kept loaded underneath his desk he hoped he would never have to use in his life. Shots were fired. She was just in the way. She was holding a copy of John Ford’s ‘The man who shot Liberty Valance’ when she fell on the floor

# 6

Like any other Wednesday night the Blue Parrot was half-full. Ioko was seating at the end of the bar sipping whiskey and eating peanuts, quietly overlooking things. He just loves Wednesday nights. Charlie got on stage and sat by his piano. He had never heard from her again and he decided not to do anything about it. ‘Maybe someday’ he thought. He played the piano gently and after a standard set of songs he started playing a tune that was unfamiliar to Ioko’s ears. It was called ‘Orange was the colour of her dress, then blue silk’. Ioko thought it was the most beautiful piece of music he had ever heard.

The End

being in control?

dream sequence #4

We had a nice big breakfast at Mike’s Café. A three-egg Spanish omelette, pancakes with maple syrup and black coffee. We didn’t really talk much, just read the Sunday paper. When we finished we walked outside to smoke a cigarette. It was a chilly, clear morning so we rushed in the car and turned the heating on. My friend was driving and I dozed off in the front seat listening to an old Dylan song on the radio.
I love these moments I thought.
Suddenly he hit the breaks at a red light and I stirred up. I looked outside the window and there she was. I hadn’t seen her in almost two years. I froze, my mind went blank. Then the light turned green again. She never noticed me.
That night I went to bed early but I couldn’t sleep. The phone rang just after 2:00 in the morning.

-Did I wake you?
-No, couldn’t sleep
-Why not? Something wrong?
-Not much, just thinking of someone
-I had a really bad dream again..
-Was it about him?
-Yes, I don’t know what’s wrong with me. It has been 6 fucking years.
-Nothing’s wrong with you. This is normal I said as I switched the receiver from my left hand to the right.
-I guess…anyway, sorry for the late call..love you loads
-No worries..

I stood there in the darkness with the phone in my hands for some time after we hung up. I thought about dreams intensely. I realised that dreams come from the past, not the future. Dreams shouldn’t control you because you control them in the first place.
Then I peacefully fell asleep.

magic in the air

We laughed so much, and then we cried all night.
You came to find me, I was in mourning
You walked in and I just smiled

And then we lay looking at the sky

Magic in the air tonight

Yes, I might just try her
How she made me feel
Today, today, today, feels right

We slept on leaves on my drive, all night
And you gave me no restime
Nothing in this life for me, tonight
But nothing ever seemed so bright

And if you should lose me
You will track me down again
Before the summer ends

Lyrics: by BDB

Artwork by Athena K.

φολεγανδρος

Αυγουστος και η Φολεγανδρος ειναι βουλιαγμενη στο σκοταδι. Ο κοσμος εχει κατακλυσει τις Κυκλαδες και το ρευμα δεν μας φτανει. Το φεγγαρι προτιμαει ετσι και δεν του καιγεται καρφι που εγω ψαχνω απεγνωσμενα αστερια...

Το απομεσημερο βουτηξα στα παγωμενα νερα φορωντας μια πλαστικη μασκα που επερνε νερο απο το πλαι. Τραβηξα για τα βαθεια και συνεχως σταματουσα να την αδειασω γιατι κοκκινηζαν τα ματια μου, ωσπου καπια στιγμη μου ξεφυγε απο τα χερια και επεσε στον βυθο. Εκανα να την βγαλω και καθως κολυμπουσα, εχασα τις αισθησεις μου. Τοτε στο ορκιζομαι! με κρατησε μια γοργονα απο το χερι και με ανεβασε στην επιφανεια. Δεν μιλησα. Μου ειπε πως την εστειλες εσυ απο το απεναντι νησι, την ζωγραφησες λεει σε ενα φυλλο χαρτι και την πεταξες στην θαλασσα.

Ξυπνησα πανω σε εναν απομερο βραχο λουσμενος στον ιδρωτα..Ο ηλιος εκαιγε. Πηρα το δρομο για το σπιτι με το βλεμμα χαμηλα.

Οι ντοπιοι λενε πως οι γοργονες αφηνουνε στους ναυτικους μυνηματα στα αστερια. Και εγω καθε βραδυ χαζευω στα ψηλα.

up all night

and if you stay up all night
listening to songs
and tasting rum

and in the mornings
lay underneath the sun
and the soft summer breeze

then swim into the bluest of sea's
and dive in and close your eyes

only then will you loose all sense of who you are
and remember who you like being.

the flaming lips live?

On the right hand side a bunch of guys dressed like Santa Clause are dancing while on the left girls dressed in alien suits are giving everything they 've got. Meanwhile, giant robots and superheroes are jumping up and down at the back while guns shooting colourful confetti and giant ballons are everywhere around us. Then the band comes on stage and frontman Wayne Coyne gets inside a large inflatable bubble (!) and jumps on the crowd. I 'm thinking 'what the hell of a gig is this?'... but before i come up with an answer the bubble is on top of me and Wayne is screaming 'welcome to our party!'

I don't know where the sun beams end and the star light begins, it's all a mystery. And I don't know how a man decides what right for his own life - it's all a mystery.*

*Lyrics from Yoshimi Battles The Pink Robots by the FLips, Photos with my mobile at the O2 wireless festival.

Belle & Sebastian's colorful lyrics and gorgeous, full-bodied melodies have provided Image Comics with the inspiration for a new kind of comics anthology. PUT THE BOOK BACK ON THE SHELF comes from a stellar collection of independent comic creators and cartoonists that put their own spins on a cross section of the band's music. Thanxs 2 my friend Theo 4 a great gift.

xx

Artwork : by Athena K.

drift away with me.

-So, what is this place?

-This is where i keep my dreams.

-It's beautiful!

-I decided i'm gonna keep your dreams alive. Keep them with mine, so now you will never have to worry about growing older anymore. Come drift away with me.

Photos: a place where your dreams come true

Text: taken from CM's diaries

η θαλασσα.

η θαλασσα στην ακρη της πολης,
περιμενει καθε απογευμα να ακουσει αυτα που εχεις να της πεις.

εκει ξεκιναει το τελος του κοσμου.

elusive

I get on the bus, walk upstairs and find myself an empty double seat. Second from the front. I lean back and press the shuffle option on my i-pod. Can’t really decide what I want to listen to. My mind drifts away, my thoughts are random and so I relax and enjoy the ride.

A young couple is sitting right in front of me. She has fallen asleep at the arms of thee. It’s time to get off though and she is rudely awakened. I turn my attention to the street outside. A bunch of drunken girls are singing and a homeless person is abusing them as they walk in front of him. They say something back and he tries to get up. Suddenly their boyfriends appear from the other side and they aggressively attack the poor guy. One of them hits him and he falls right back down on the road as the bus slowly drives away.

I shake my head in regret.

Then I notice that she is now sitting in front me. The couple got off and she got on. She looks calm and collected. She is hardly wearing any make-up and elegant simple round earnings are hanging from her earlobes. She is really cute and I am completely concentrated on her when a song called ‘elusive’ comes on. I love this song so I max-out the volume. I am really enjoying this so I start whispering the lyrics…. ‘she said my destiny lies in the hands that set me free..’
I really don’t have much of a voice so I must sound awful. But who gives a fuck anyway, i am really enjoying this.

In her hand she is holding a notebook and a sharpened pencil. I lean forward to see what it is that she is writing.

‘my destiny lies in the hands that set me free’

-It’s Scott Matthews; the song is called ‘Elusive’ i scream with my headphones on. She turns around and she is smiling.

Artwork by Athena K.

Pure Timing

Faith pours from your walls, drowning your calls. I've tried to hear, you're not near. Remembering when i saw your face, shining my way, pure timing.Now i've fallen in deep, slow silent sleep, It's killing me, i'm dying. To put a little bit of sunshine in your life.

Corto's dreams

Strange dreams guys. These are the only kinds that I have lately. I don’t suppose you dream do you?
-That is insulting Corto! All animals have dreams.
-I am truly sorry. What kind then?
-Pleasant. Open fields, blues skies, free space to run, food. Things that we love. Things we do everyday.
-Sounds nice.
-Tell us about your dreams.
-Well….my dreams are mostly about the things i love but I can’t have.
-Do you mean women?
-Well…mostly women, yes.
-What about the women you do have then. Do you dream about them?
-Well..no I don’t.
-That is strange Corto.

Who's that girl?

You told me you wanted to eat up my sadness

Well jump on, enjoy, you can gorge away

You told me you wanted to eat up my sadness

Jump right on

Baby, you've got to be more discerning

I've never known what's good for me

Baby, you've got to be more demanding

I will be yours

What are you holding out for?

What's always in the way?

Why so damn absent-minded?

Why so scared of romance?

This modern love breaks me

This modern love wastes me

Do you wanna come over and kill some time?

Tell me facts, tell me facts, tell me facts

Throw your arms around me

Lyrics by Bloc Party

Artwork bt Athena K.

dream a little dream of me

Stars shining bright above you
Night breezes seem to whisper ‘I love you’
Sweet dreams till sunbeams find you. Sweet dreams that leave all worries behind you and in your dreams whatever they be, dream a little dream of me.

Artwork: A place in your dreams by Athena K.

Lyrics by Loui Armstrong

passing time

I'm still around here. There is no need to worry, although i'm kinda loving it that you do. Things around me have been a bit strange lately. The weekends are freezing cold and sunny and the weekdays are wet and dark. On Sunday i had a long walk with my dad. It's funny but i fell that as i'm growing up i'm begining to understand him. Maybe i am becoming just like him. That's a bit ironic.

My friend Th. says his heart is broken. I don't know about that. I honestly can't figure why a man sees the truth but needs the lies. Sometimes the more i think about the world the more i realise that things don't make much sense, but i guess it is what it is. I am still having beutifull dreams when i go to sleep and they are mostly about you. In the mornings i get the bus to go to work while i listen to my music. I think that's my favourite part of the day. My mind is clear and focused and i feel like i know exactly what i want. I have re-discovered this Beth Orton tune called pass in time that also features Terry Callier's crystalline vocals. I really enjoy listening to it. Callier is playing the Jazz Cafe on the 25th. Dream-gig coming true. I will let you know if he plays your favourite tune.

all night long

My love is cruel as the night.
She steals the sun, and shuts out the light.
All of my colours, they turn to blue. Win or lose.
She does it slow dancing. All night long.
Scarlet eyes and a see-through heart.
She saw me coming right from the start.
She picked me up, but had me down on my knees, Just a' beggin' her, beggin' her please
Take me slow dancing.
She took me slow...dancing All night long.
And I don't know a man, search for himself in his lover's eyes
No I don't know why a man, sees the truth but needs the lies
My love is restless as the wind,
She moves like a shadow across my skin
She left with my conscience, I don't want it back
It just gets in the way
If you wanna go slow dancing
She took me slow...dancing. All night long.

Artwork by Athena K.

event 4#

There were five of us. Two guys and three girls. Spending hours and hours together drinking loads of Pinot Gricio, smoking cigarettes, dancing and falling asleep on the floor in the early hours of the morning. It’s weird but I never had friends like that before. No matter what, Spyros would wake us up in the morning with Belle & Sebastian’s boy with the Arab strap. They played the Hammersmith Apollo the other night and I was there sitting in the first row listening about a dog on wheels

colourbox

Το φεγγαρι που εχεις στο μυαλο σου νομιζω πως ειναι κιτρινο, στρογγυλο μεγαλο και κατακιτρινο. Και η θαλασσα που κανεις τις καλοκαιρινες βουτιες σου για να δροσιστεις πρασινογαλαζη και κρυσταλλινη. Και εκεινο το μανταρινι το θυμασαι; που καθως το ξεφλουδισες σε πιτσιλισε στο ματι και δακρυσες…πορτοκαλι και ζουμερο. Και το χιονι που επεφτε ενα Σαββατο βραδυ του Φλεβαρη και το χαζευες πισω απο το παραθυρο; καταλευκο και καθαρο..Και η φωτια που σου εκανε παρεα ακουγοντας παλιες κασσετες ητανε κοκκινη και σου εκαιγε το προσωπο. Και στο παρκο ξαπλωσες στο καταπρασινο χορτο και εκλεισες τα ματια και αφησες τον ηλιο του χειμωνα να σου ζεστανει το προσωπο.

Και εγω σου χαρισα ενα κουτι γεματο χρωματα. Το ανοιξες και επαιξες μαζι τους μεχρι που σε πηρε ο υπνος στο πατωμα.

fireworks 2night

Sandy, the angels have lost our desire for us. I spoke to them just last night and they said they won't set themselves on fire for us anymore.
Every summer when the weather gets hot they ride that road down from heaven on their Harleys they come and they go. And you can see them dressed like stars in all the cheap little seashore bars parked making love with their babies out on the Kokomo. Well the cops finally busted Madame Marie for telling fortunes better than they do. This boardwalk life for me is through. You know you ought to quit this scene too

Just love me 2night baby, and i will love you 4ever.

Ο πλανητης του Μικρου Πριγκηπα

Τα ονειρα ειναι αναμνησεις που εχουν χασει τον δρομο τους. Οι δικες τις αναμνησεις ομως σκορπανε λευκες ελαφροπετρες που φεγγουν στο σκοταδι και παντα βρισκουν το δρομο πισω.

Artwok by Athena K.

eternal sunshine of the spotless mind

It has been months since I last thought about her. I mean actual months. And although I can recall exquisite details about the times I spent with her, I can hardly picture her face. I remember how cold it was when we walked along the park on a Saturday; how unbearably hot it was a day she picked me up from the airport. I can tell you what we had for lunch or dinner, the film we saw together and where we stopped for coffee. But her face remains a blur. So last night I go to sleep. I toss and I turn and I close my eyes. And as if she holds a sting that controls the journeys of my mind I travel all the way to the shoreline of her presence. It was there where I spend the night dazzled by the scent of her hair.

In the morning I thought about that film ‘eternal sunshine of the spotless mind’ where people go to this company to erase a past lover from their memories. Fuck that.

Artwork by Athena K.

record billboard # 2

Golfrapp's ride on a white horse is just pure, elegant porn. Classy.

looking for the heart of Saturday night

Well you gassed her up
Behind the wheel
With your arm around your sweet one
In your oldsmobile
Barreling down the boulevard
You're looking for the heart of Saturday night

And you got paid on Friday
And your pockets are jingling
And you see the lights,

you get all tingling cause you're cruising with a 6
And you're looking for the heart of Saturday night

Then you comb your hair
Shave your face, trying to wipe out every trace
All the other days in the week you know that this'll be the Saturday
You're reaching your peak
And the barmaid is smiling from the corner of her eye

Magic of the melancholy tear in your eye.

Makes it kind of special down in the core
And you're dreaming' of them Saturdays that came before
It's found you stumbling
Stumbling' onto the heart of Saturday night
Lyrics by Tom Waits.

As i was getting ready to go out for drinks i got to thinking about the heart of the Saturday night. It seems to me that it will be floating about in bars, night-clubs and restaurants, cinemas, house partys and small get-togethers. In cars where the radio is playing, in smiles, desperate glances and soft tender touches. Even beneath the city lights where two hearts beat in a bedroom locked. And music will be around too, until the early hours of the morning.

η αυτοβιογραφια του φωτος

Στην Αγγλια και σε χωρες της Ευρωπης που ειχα ζησει μεχρι τοτε , το φως εμαιζε να ασθμαινει η να καταδιωκεται, απο καποιον αδηλο εχθρο. Με καθε επιστροφη μου στην Ελλαδα ειχα την αισθηση οτι ανακαλυπτα και παλι το φως. ‘Το Ελληνικο φως’ εγραψε ο Χενρυ Μουρ, ‘ειναι κατι που δεν μπορεις να φανταστεις προτου το βιωσεις. Στη Αγγλια το μισο φως απορροφαται μεσα στο αντικειμενο, ομως στην Ελλαδα το αντικειμενο μοιαζει να αναδινει φως σαν να φωτιζεται το ιδιο απο μεσα του’. Εδω στην Ελλαδα, η διαυγεια του φωτος καθοριζει τον χαρακτηρα του τοπιου και των πνευματικων μας αναζητησεων. Μια νοητη γραμμη ξεκιναει απο το Απολλωνειο φως της αρχαιοτητας, διασχιζει το ‘δευτε λαβετε φως’ της Αναστασεως, και φτανει μεχρι το ‘αξιον εστι το φως’ του Ελυτη. Εδω υψωνεται στο επιπεδο του δημιουργου, και με εναν τροπο μαγικο πλαθει καο αναδεικνυει. Για αυτο και εγω κουβαλουσα παντα μεσα μου την προσδοκια και την αναγκη του.

Αποσπασμα απο την ‘Αυτοβιογραφια του φωτος’ του Γιωργου Γραμματικακη.
Photo: afternoon light floating in my living room

Η προσδοκια και η αναγκη για το Ελληνικο φως ειναι κατι βαρυ που κουβαλαω και εγω μεσα μου, ειδικα ενα συννεφιασμενο Λονδρεζικο Σαββατο σαν το σημερινο.

record billboard # 1

close to my flat there is this billboard where they put on new record posters every 2-3 weeks. I will be updating this picture every time they change it. There is a big fuss about the arctic monkeys at the moment.

clear morning

It was supposed to be snowing this morning in London. However, the sun decided to pay us a little visit afterall. It's so nice to wake up to a clear blue sky, even if its -1 outside.

bright, sparkling eyes

I met her when I was around 15-16, maybe younger. She was a year older than me and she had the prettiest face. Bright and sharp, her eyes were sparkling. She used to wear these bandanas over her short, blondish hair that intensified them. Different to most of the girls i had met before I was drawn into her. We kept staring at each other, someone introduced us and before long we started going out on these dates. I remember we walked and walked, talking about the things that were important to us back then, music and films. She was smart, cheerful and interesting. There was this bench (it is still laying there today) where we sat until it was late and we had to go home. I kept coming up with these random topics of conversation because I was too scared to kiss her, but I wanted her to stay. It was agonising. One particular night we went to the movies together to see ‘When a man loves a woman’. She had her legs hanging on the top of the front chair and as I was trying to get closer I had my legs underneath hers. Waiting, hoping rather for something to happen. It was all about getting as close to her as possible. At one point she dropped her legs and rested them on mine. The feeling is hard to describe but its still with me. As happy as one can be I guess..

Eventually I did kiss her at the end but things just did not work out between us. Soon after I left home to study abroad and so we lost contact. I would see her from time to time and I‘d always find out how she was doing. Not very good, seemed to be the answer the last couple of years. Today’s news I find hard to believe though…

No matter what, I think I will always remember her like she was when we met. Just like a little girl. I guess there is no earthly way of knowing what was in your heart when it stopped going.

για αλλους Ρωμαιους και αλλες Ιουλιετες.

-Oμως θα πρεπει να ειναι την πρωτη Παρασκευή της σεληνης. Τοτε αγοραζεις μια γαλαζια κορδελα που το μηκος της να ειναι αναλογο με το ονομα της κοπελας που αγαπας...Κανεις ενα κομπο και απαγγελεις το εδαφιο 5 της σουρας 30 που αλλιως την ονομαζουν ‘Βυζαντινη’ η ‘Ενετικη’ αν προτιμας...Αλλα προσεχε μην σφιξεις τον κομπο πριν τελειωσεις ολοκληρο το εδαφιο. Μετα δενεις την κορδελα στο χερι με το οποιο θα χαιδεψεις την κοπελα που αγαπας....και ολα θα πανε καλα.

-Και αν εκεινη δεν θελει να την χαιδεψω?

-Τοτε βρισκεις αλλη.....Υπαρχουν τοσες....

CM.

Buenos Aires

I have trouble remembering her name these days. It is not important anyway. Women should not really have names since they are all the same…She was travelling from Alexandria to Marseille with her mother. Her father’s wool-trading business had bankrupted and he had killed himself. She wore black, read songs, and spoke in the most simple of ways. She was pure and full of kindness. She gave me a wallet made out of fish-leather and I gave her my little golden cross that I had hanging around my neck since I could remember. 3 years later, at Buenos Aires I slept with some woman. In the morning I got my wallet out to pay her and she shouted something as soon as she saw it. I shouted something back when I noticed a small cross pinched on her robe…Maybe it was just a dream. All women seem to be the same now.

Taken from Nikos Kavvadias’s ‘Diaries’.
Photo by Sheila Smart.

Neighborhood #4 (7 Kettels)

..................................................................................

Neela jumped out of bed at 9.15 in the morning. She couldn't waste another minute in bed. Not on such a bright, sunny Saturday morning. After having a simple breakfast she put on a white hat, matching scarf and gloves and left her warm, tiny flat. She walked straight down to Mike's Cafe and got herself a large cup of a cappuccino to go. The way she likes to spend her time on days like these is on the front seat of the upper deck on bus route number 9. From one side of town to the other, sipping her coffee, just gazing out on the packed, colorful streets. She always sits on the left side. No reason, just likes that side better.
Erman had a heavy Friday night. He opened his eyes instinctively just after 10, only to realize that this was not his bed. He could kill for a Marlboro he thought. He got dressed quietly and walked out on the street. He caught the number 9 bus soon after, went upstairs, sat at the front seat, leaned his head against the window and closed his eyes. On the right side. They travelled through London exactly like that but not for a single moment did they notice each other. Each one being the exact opposite, perfect match for the other. That night they both listened to the same songs.

Neighborhood #4 (7 Kettels)

I am waitin' 'til I don't know when, cause I'm sure it's gonna happen then. Time keeps creepin' through the neighborhood, killing old folks, wakin' up babies just like we knew it would. They say a watched pot won't ever boil, well I closed my eyes and nothin' changed, just some water getting hotter in the flames.

blue silk

'Orange was the colour of her dress, then blue silk'. That is the name of this Jazz tune by Charles Mingus that i have been listening to a lot lately. This is what happens....i think.

It’s a rainy Saturday afternoon you see…absolutely pouring it down and she is running down the street. She is soaked, her hair is wet and sticky; her dress almost transparent; you can see the lining of her hips and the shape of her beautiful breasts. And she is carrying shopping bags, loads of them. Her legs are delicate and a small pond of rain-water forms around them as she walks into the coffee shop. First thing she does, takes a pack of smokes out of her tiny bag and lights up a cigarette. I mean she does not even look around. She has no acknowledgement for anyone else. She is looking outside where the rain keeps falling and people keep running. A few minutes pass like this. Quietly people are staring at the rain as its sound is arguing with the music coming from the shop’s old speakers. Then she slowly turns around, picks up her bags and walks over to the counter. A cup of steaming coffee is what she is having, and another cigarette. It had been such a warm, sunny afternoon she is thinking, she despises rain. Romantic-dreamer’s stuff….that’s what she thinks about rain. Herself is not into romance; her heart was once broken by a romantic dreamer you see. Now it’s all about different things. What if she is actually only pretending to hate rain and fairy-tale stuff? No..can’t be….Although...a gentle whisper of sadness floats around her exquisite face.
Suddenly the rain stops and the sun is back at all its glory. She stands up and walks out the door. Just like that. She has not even touched her coffee. As she is passing by the window the sun strokes her from the side.

Blue silk…underneath an orange summer dress.

Charles is sitting at the corner, by the window thinking about jazz. He gets up and walks out of the door. It smells like rain.

Εδω γυρω η θαλασσα πλεκει την μοιρα των ανθρωπων με τροπους ακατανοητους

Στην οικογενεια του Τζωρτζη μια παραδοση που κρατουσε επι 5 γενιες μεγαλωνε τους πιο τρανους καπετανεους του νησιου. Οταν ο καπεταν-Χριστος Φουντας ειδε τον τεσσαρων μηννων γιο του να σπαραζει στο κλαμα με την πρωτη βουτια στη κολυβηθρα της εκκλησιας ενιωσε ντροπη. Η γυναικα του καταλαβε πως ισως ειχε ερθει η ωρα να σπασει η παρδοσοση και δυσκολευτηκε να πνιξει μεσα της δακρυα χαρας και οχι λυπης.
Το χωριο βουηξε και ο Καπεταν-Χρηστος εκανε 6 μηννες να πατησει το ποδι του στο καφενειο. Το σημαδι ητανε ξεκαθαρο. Προσπαθησε ανελπηστα να συνφηλιωθει με την ιδεα οτι o γιος του δεν θα εβγενε στη θαλασσα. Δεν τα καταφερε ποτε. 16 χροννια αργοτερα, στις 16 Φεβρουαριου επιασε μια φοβερη φουρτουνα. Ο καπεταν-Χριστος δεν αφηνε ποτε τα δυχτια στα ανοιχτα οταν ειχε καιρο, και αψηφοντας τις συμβουλες των δικων του βγηκε να τα μαζεψει και δεν ξαναγυρισε.

'η θαλασσα ειναι ακαρδη και δολια, δεν συνχωραει ευκολα, επειδη της στερησα τον γιο μου..μου πηρε τον αντρα.'

Ο νεαρος Τζωρτζης κατηγορησε τον εαυτο του για τον θανατο του πατερα του. 6 μηνες αργοτερα μπαρκαρε στο φορτηγο Αρζεντινα.

Neighborhood # 1 (Tunnels)

And if the snow buries my, my neighborhood. And if my parents are crying then I’ll dig a tunnel from my window to yours, yeah a tunnel from my window to yours.You climb out the chimney and meet me in the middle, the middle of town. And since there’s no one else around, we let our hair grow long and forget all we used to know, then our skin gets thicker from living out in the snow.


Arcade Fire's album 'Funeral' is on constant repeat on my cd player. Absolutely mind-blowing record. Go find it and listen to it.

2 φεγγαρια

Και ομως καταλαβες ποιος ειναι ο φιλος του Corto Maltese που δεν θελει ποτε να μεγαλωσει και μενει ακομα στο Kensington Gardens...

You just blew my mind away that day..

I never forgot about it.

Event # 2

BLOC PARTY rounded off their year last night by playing a special gig at KOKO in Camden Town . KOKO is probably the best venue i have ever been to see a band play live. An old Victorian theatre renovated to modern standards. The band blew me away. Slick, relaxed and refreshingly different they covered their excellent Silent Alarm debut album with their New Order-like strings and base.

Event # 1

Friday the 16th of December. 10 days before Xmas. It’s hard to concentrate at work.
I plan to leave early tonight. I am meeting Mia outside the Robin’s nest café at 6. Promptly.

‘Don’t be late again please’ she says.
‘I won’t’ I say back. ‘Mia there is something else.’
‘What?’
‘Wear your trainers…’

I am excited about 2night. I put on my gloves and hat, check that I have the tickets and I go rushing down the stairs. It sure smells like winter, it’s all around me but it’s quite hard to describe.

I arrive at 6.10 but she just smiles. We have time for a drink. The café is packed but we manage to squeeze in.

‘So why do you like them so much?’
‘I don’t know, its no big story or anything.. It’s just that when I first heard their music I really connected with it. One particular verse has stuck with me ever since.’

When I counted up my demons
Saw there was one for every day
With the good ones on my shoulders
I drove the other ones away

*Coldplay play Earl’s Court tonight on their last show of the year.

The band just arrived on stage.Big yellow ballons fill the arena when the Yellow anthem is played.