talking about actions creates the illusion of actually doing/ the dichotomy persists and it is bound to individual consciousness / the image of myself prevails over my real self/ the various images of my various roles i.e. the professional, the artist, the son, the partner, the lover are different to the actual roles/ the partner i would like to be and i could theorise for hours i should be, to the extent of preaching about it, or defending it blindly or violently arguing against anything else is actually different to my actual self and thus conflict is created/ is there a mathematical formula of the distance between perception of image of self over real self / does such distance correlates with the distance of other people in the various interactions of these roles of mine/ one or more / does awareness of the distance itself affects the distance / or some other process must begin /the most important question of all/perception of an ideal image –who would you like to be- is inevitable/does the continuous cultivation, nurturing and preservation of such image affect the actual self / can constant projection of this image eventually alter the self / or should the process be inverse
imagine now to try and tell your personal history only of actual events, your real events. without it was a time i felt i had to do this/without I was in love with S that is why i moved back to athens/ no explanations. mere facts. mere actions/ resist to all interpretations / resist to descriptions
i got up from bed, from the left side/ i walked about five steps out from the room/ turned left another three steps opened the door/ entered the toilet, (the daylight entered my eyes), i rubbed my eyes/ took the plane/landed in (rome)/ stayed in a hostel for two months/ moved to another flat/ lived with (an estonian animator) named M. and two romanian couples/ took the tram every day to go to college/met C. drank tea to the tea house off coliseum/went through trastevere on her scooter everynight except weekends/went to naples/ went to capri/ went to the office/ G. walked in the office/ he told me we would work together/ walked down north hill street/turned to plymouth ave/i went to cooperage/entered the (dungeon) gate/read the poster reading ozric tentacles/ (it was monday night)/ had e's and beer/ told A. i d'rather stay alone/ left the cooperage with A./ walked down to the sea by barbican/ i saw a sea gull eating a left over kebab/ and two guys making out/ A. pulled my arm away (as if she would like to take my attention away)/ I saw her pointing her finger to a window at a detached house overlooking the pier/she mouthed this is where i live/she asked me-why do you laugh/i heard my self replying something (i dont remember)/woke up/looked in the mirror /looked at the pier outside/(dark)/(the street was empty)/the lamp post was moving/i forced my fist to the window glass/ i saw blood coming out of index finger/i turned my head, some 30 degrees clockwise/raised my eyes/m. looking straight at my hand/m. approaching/f. breaking window left overs/put the key in ignition/ the fuel deposit feels warm in my legs/...
(b). Fear Φ 194. We have seen what bondage is only in relation to lordship. But it is a self-consciousness, and we have now to consider what it is, in this regard, in and for itself. In the first instance, the master is taken to be the essential reality for the state of bondage; hence, for it, the truth is the independent consciousness existing for itself, although this truth is not taken yet as inherent in bondage itself. Still, it does in fact contain within itself this truth of pure negativity and self-existence, because it has experienced this reality within it. For this consciousness was not in peril and fear for this element or that, nor for this or that moment of time, it was afraid for its entire being; it felt the fear of death, the sovereign master. It has been in that experience melted to its inmost soul, has trembled throughout its every fibre, and all that was fixed and steadfast has quaked within it. This complete perturbation of its entire substance, this absolute dissolution of all its stability into fluent continuity, is, however, the simple, ultimate nature of self-consciousness, absolute negativity, pure self-referrent existence, which consequently is involved in this type of consciousness. This moment of pure self-existence is moreover a fact for it; for in the master it finds this as its object. Further, this bondsman’s consciousness is not only this total dissolution in a general way; in serving and toiling the bondsman actually carries this out. By serving he cancels in every particular aspect his dependence on and attachment to natural existence, and by his work removes this existence away. (hegel, phenomenology)
a hundred thirteen goosebumped, gobsmacked stray dogs stroll along the marina it s late. i can smell the salt of the sea teasing your curls will the balloons ever fly?
a dancing spleen, a semi flirting tonic with gin a rebel without a bra and a star hidden in the dark a moan echoing through the stretches of night what does it mean ? no really a bed in the dessert bizarrely lit a shipwreck, a burning bridge a wooden carriage simulating turtle motions in the reflections of sand an old grandmothers bed, the only real bed our bodies the way they should be old children photos that would never be familiar enough a stressed steering wheel a wandering police car viola, uri caine, juno our own very personal culture our own little private world the sound of incoming sms heart palpitations, a heart pace that goes boom boom boom blueberry nights a white hat with a red ribbon that i will never see at what it was destined for a casual random bicycle ride sweat from the armpits we suffer of short memory and of the moon cycles of bruised egos and of bruising egos a very special descending tree we suffer of learned patterns consistently wrong of vanity of lust of vanity will the balloons ever fly?
'My nerves are bad to-night. Yes, bad. Stay with me. 'Speak to me. Why do you never speak? Speak. 'What are you thinking of? What thinking? What? 'I never know what you are thinking. Think.' I think we are in rats' alley Where the dead men lost their bones. 'What is that noise?' The wind under the door. 'What is that noise now? What is the wind doing?' Nothing again nothing. 'Do 'You know nothing? Do you see nothing? Do you remember 'Nothing?' I remember Those are pearls that were his eyes. Are you alive, or not? Is there nothing in your head?'
He had emptiness tattooed as a line across his chest.His gaze, a bit vain, was an arrow to the horizon.Her, she was looking straight to the eye, in this fatal, abyssal way.On her chest, a round red scar.Their embracing, heart to heart, would be generating perpetual sunrises and sunfalls. (xtina)
έκανα σύμβαση με τα μάτια μου. οι πατούσες μου, μούλιασαν χαλασμένα φράγματα, σικέ οδοφράγματα. ένα ξεσκισμένο καλώδιο κρέμεται, λίγο κάτω από το γόνατο. Κίνδυνος κανείς. Ζωτικά ψέματα, είπε ο J.
Σε κοίταζα, απέναντι μου ξεφλουδισμένη από κάποια θάλασσα με δυο τρία κιλά παραπάνω το στήθος σου κρεμασμένο κάπως οι λευκές σου τρίχες λίγο πιο πολλές σφιγμένα χείλη πάλι και πλατιά γυαλιά ηλίου που τα έβγαλες μετά προφάσεις για ευγένεια φιλότιμες απλά ο ήλιος χάραζε καινούργια σύνορα πάνω στο λαιμό σου και ανοιγόκλεινα τα βλέφαρα με απάθεια στο καφέ που κάποτε στα κλεφτά με κοίταζες σαν να ήμουνα η επόμενη επανάσταση
και μετά μόνος μπροστά σε κάποιο παράθυρο έτσι ξαφνικά το τέλος όρθωσε επιτέλους το ανάστημα του μπροστά μου με μια κάποια ειλικρίνεια. Και είπα. τώρα είναι. τώρα κατέβηκε στην καρδιά. τώρα γίνεται. τώρα τελειώνει. και μούλιασαν οι πατούσες μου.
"...All that remains is a fate whose outcome alone is fatal. Outside of that single fatality of death, everything, joy or happiness, is liberty. A world remains of which man is the sole master. What bound him was the illusion of another world. The outcome of his thought , ceasing to be renunciatory, flowers in images. It frolics - in myths, to be sure, but myths with no other depth than that of human suffering and like it inexhaustible. Not the divine fable that amuses and blinds, but the terrestial face, gesture, and drama in which are summed up a difficult wisdom and an ephemeral passion. "