You see,

It’s not the greeting that matters

Nor the banter that follows

But the farewell

And what comes after.


In the evening I had a dream in which i died while looking for my car.

Somebody whacked me on the head with a rock I think.

Every channel I tune into either shows a movie I’ve seen before or an episode from a local series so inane that pondering whether it’s a repeat is completely meaningless

My dinner came out of a glossy plastic bag with full-colour prints on it.

The soft drink I had afterwards did not help me forget any of it.

As good a rendering of Hell as any I can think of.

I shouldn’t be here.

In a universe close to this one I left, walking quickly up the road looking at the pavement slabs sliding under my foot.

In this one I stayed because I liked the next song that came along

Now that it has finished I can leave, walking quickly up the road looking at the pavement slabs sliding under my foot.

Τούτη η έρημος χρειάζεται τις οάσεις τις

Το πρόβλημα εν ότι ενεν ούλλες αληθινές

Θυμάμαι το τόπο που άκουσα πρώτη φορά το τραγούδι τούτο

Ενα καφέ που ενόμιζα ότι ήταν να γίνει ένα που τα σημεία αναφοράς μου

Ωσπου επρόσεξα ότι κάθε Σάββατο που επήεννα ο κόσμος που έβλεπα ήταν ολοένα τζιαι πιο αποκρουστικός

Που τες κυρίες που εμιλούσαν για μισή ώρα για τον τάδε επιχειρηματία που άνοιξε το τάδε μαγαζι

Που το κάφρο που εξαπόλυσε το τανκ του μές τη μέση του δρόμου κλείοντας τον τζιαι όταν του είπε κάποιος να το ταράξει γιατί εκαρτερούσε κόσμος να περάσει απλά έμεινε ατάραχος ώσπου να πιάσει το καφέ του.

Που ούλλους τους άλλους στο ενδιάμεσο που εμιλούσαν για ώρες χωρίς να λαλούν τίποτε.

Κρίμα. Ηταν καλός τζιαι ο καφές του.


I wish i could turn my blog into a city

And drag any visitor into it through the gaps in the words

It would be a deserted city full of ruins

Some would be majestic

Some would be little more than mounds of rocks

On most days

Or months

Or years

The city would be quiet and still

But come the right wind

One may be fortunate enough

To catch a glimpse of what it once was

Etched in the troughs

Of swirling dust

My failures often barge in, like annoying clips on TV

They are the little failures,

ungraceful embarrassments in casual conversation

And the big failures

their magnitude matching that of world wars

To make them go away I imagine all those involved

,myself included,

As heaps of bones

Rapidly turning into dust.