Apart from making the act of walking naked around the land a significantly riskier endeavour than what it used to be (“hey, did you see that youtube video of a guy strolling butt naked in a field? He looks a lot like you!”) mobile phones have an another more subtle impact

For back in the day, you really could stop stuff from reaching you – you just didn’t answer. No one would send a letter if you didn’t pick up the phone, even if,technically, they could; they understood that you didn’t want to read it – it was an aspect of interpersonal relations, acknowledged by all.

Now, the text will always reach you. Even if you switch off the phone it’s still there,waiting, for as long as it takes. All it takes is the flick of a switch and even worse, its mere presence, the  potential to be read, has already altered the future.

Perhaps what upsets me the most is that we have lost our ability to choose the boundaries of our world, the ability to regulate them,to constict and expand them as best fits our current state of mind;once that bundle of words is launched it will collapse whatever cosy little reality you had going there. And there is nothing you can do about it. 

There ought to be a word to describe feeling the lives of others flowing past you on their way to somewhere else while you remain as rigid and immovable as a cliff.

Whenever I am using a soluble painkiller, tiny bits of it seem to spread around the glass like ash from a volcanic eruption.Due to some no doubt pretty basic chemistry the stuff isn’t visible during the reaction but only appears a few moments after I’ve drunk the potion, as if spread on the table by a ghost between blinks.

At times, the clean space in the middle where the glass used to be brings with it visions of a spooky crime scene, one where evidence that someone was killed is all over the place but the body is nowhere to be found.

And, at other times, this residue brings with it a profound sense of melancholy ,becoming via some alchemical process the tangible essence of being spent; a stark reminder that you can never go back, that every moment that passes takes with it a piece of you and both are set in stone never to be recovered and any attempt to do so, to get a piece of you  back, leaves you with nothing more than a pile of dust.

Ah.

Writing inspired by an off the shelf painkiller. 

I never expected my muse to be that bizarre.

Driving along desolate country roads in the middle of the night brings with it a rare sense of peace.

“Don’t you know,

 the Dark has room for everything,

And then some more”

When hope is gone it leaves in its place a hole filled with incessant whispers.

And these whispers, they tell of things that you really do not want to hear.

And though this peace to which I am referring does not come with any sense of hope, it is at least something that makes the whispers stop.

Everything is crumbing.

I was always fascinated by footage of tall buildings being demolished. 

The way they fell down reminded me of wafers, all that hard concrete folding and breaking as if it was made to be crunched all along.

Tonight, as I was standing still next to a lamp post I thought I felt the Universe expanding right in front of me – the space between me and other people getting bigger and bigger with every unit of time passing.

But the music was beautiful. Perhaps that is all that will remain in the end – a song flowing through absolute darkness.

Listening to an hours long retrowave playlist in a cafe is the closest thing I’ll get to meditation this Summer.

——–

– “Εχεις πολυ καλες φλεβες”

– “Σοβαρα;…..α….ε…ευχαριστω (what are you doing, it’s not a compliment silly!) ….να το βαλω στο CV μου τοτε”