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Sleep

I don’t go for sleep,
because I am afraid of my dreams.

I don’t get up,
because I am afraid of my dreams.

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If I was a painter,
I would paint

If I was a writer,
I would write

If I was a clock,
I would tick

But I am afraid,
and I do nothing. 

Leaving

When my logic dies out of the feeling of being tired,

then I get the inspiration to write my thoughts about what I feel,

without the usual mental blocks.

Unfortunately, at that very moment, my brain is disconnected and therefore, I cannot find the relevant words. I mostly feel like writing in automatic pilot and hoping that the thoughts are worth reading. Now I wonder, how many times we do the same things but with actions out of no motivation to do better.

I don’t know where I started from where I am heading to. I am just here.

Sunday

I would like to die on a Sunday afternoon,

just a few minutes after the dusk,

hidden, dived in a between the pages,

when our conversations about our life have ended.

 

Yes, a Sunday’s death seems appropriate.

I was born only on a Saturday.

I find fitting that the end and the beginning of my life

happen in a weekend.

What is the name of the other days in Greek?

Everyday (=καθημερινή). Yes, they occur every day.

I was born and I died on a weekend.

 

I want to close my eyes after the dusk.

I want to give some minutes to my thought to follow

the light in its dark paths. To wander.

 

Sundays are the best days to die. They are so lazy

and so full. You can only recycle your life and start anew.

 

I will always love Sundays. And their fever. And their inertia.

And their… Some sentences will never be finished.

Either because we are too tired, or because too afraid.

We will never know what was meant to be written.

But don’t be afraid. For what we don’t know, we build confortable stories to console our solitude.

A solitude without enter. Without next step. A long solititude.

 

Please, take my breath. Give me yours. For a while, lend me your vision and take care of my soul. I feel too tired by my everyday life.

Living (leaving)

Why not to live only in the nights,
when the dreams are so intense.
Why let the light of the day put shades
on our backs?

– Dreams are for people who can put aside their life.

Why not to live only in the nights,
when everything is so quiet.
Why let the noise of the day disturb the silence
where our thoughts can prosper?

– Silence is for people who can put aside the life of the others.

Why not to live only in the nights,
when the feelings are more clear.
Why let the social conventions of our society use our reasoning
against our feelings?

– Because feelings are for people who want to claim back their life

Why not to live only in the nights,
when the clothes are so useless.
Why let the daily life put on its weight against what we really are?

– Because clothes are not needed for those who are not afraid to expose themselves to others.

A small song to sadness in a lonely night

God exists in mathematics. He gives us more questions than answers. You cannot prove his existence. We can only see projections in R^3.

Blast from the past

Πολλά όνειρα πεθαίνουν με το φως της μέρας, για να ξαναβρούν ζωή μόλις αυτό δύσει και μείνουμε μόνοι μας στο σκοτάδι μας, ονειρευόμενοι πάντα μια καλύτερα μέρα, μα ποτέ μια καλύτερη νύχτα, ακόμα και αν αυτή είναι που μας επιτρέπει να ονειρευόμαστε.