Saturday, February 21, 2009


- Do you believe in fate?

-You mean the predetermined flow of events?
I certainly do, in my own framework.
If everything was programmed, let's break the code now.

I give you two options, the most extreme ones:
live or die, now.
Both depend on chances, on conditions.
You just want to call it fate or destiny.

I've visited the devil himself once.
Has he changed my, what you call, fate?
Don't think so.
I've confronted death several times... intentionally.
Not for "fun".
May be I was looking for it.
Just exploring.

They say it was always my lucky star.
I'm fucking sick of my lucky star.
It confines me in this little spot.

Sightless by j3ssko

Thursday, February 12, 2009


... κι ενα εργαλειο εκρατησε μοναχα, ναυτικο
τ' οργανο εκεινο που μετραν τον ηλιο, τον εξαντα.

Η στενοχωρια και το αλκοολ δουλευοντας σιγα,
μερα τη μερα σ' ενα χαινον χασμα τον ωθουσαν.
Τρελαθηκε. Τον πειραζαν στους δρομους τα παιδια,
κι οι ψειρες πανω στα ξανθα του γενια επερπατουσαν.

Παντα βασιλευε σιγη θανατερη εκει μεσα
και περπατουσαμε ολοι μας στις μυτες των ποδιων,
κι ηταν στιγμες που νομιζες πως ακουες να χτυπουνε
σαν το ρολοι, μες στη σιγη, οι χτυποι των καρδιων.

Γελας, μα εγω σε πουλησα στο Ριο για δυο σενταβος
κι απε σε ξανα αγορασα ακριβα στη Βηρυτο.

Με πορφυρο στα χειλη μου κοχυλι σε προσταζω.
Στο χερι το γερακι σου και τα σκυλια λυτα.
Απανωθε μου σκουπισε τη θαλασσα που σταζω
και μαθε με να περπατω πανω στη γη σωστα.

Οταν πιστευω θαλασσα μοναχα και βυθο
και προσκυναω για εικονισμα εναν παλιο αστρολαβο
πες μου, στην αγια πιστη σου, πως να προσευχηθω;
σε ποιον να εξομολογηθω και που να μεταλαβω;

Το επιχρισμα. Η αγια σκουρια που μας γεννα,
μας τρεφει, τρεφεται απο μας, και μας σκοτωνει.

Γιατι μπερδευω τουτη εδω με μια αλλη ιστορια;
Ειναι ενα χερι που ποναει, βαρυ και λαβωμενο.
Βλεπω συχνα στον υπνο μου ενα ασπρο καρχαρια
με περιμενει νηστικος ή εγω τον περιμενω;

Tuesday, February 10, 2009

Tracey fragments

When a horse falls, foam comes out of its mouth.

When it falls, the legs of the horse thrash

and the horse is no good, so somebody shoots it.

The horse turns into glue.

A machine puts the glue into bottles

and children squeeze the bottles to get

the glue out and stick bits of paper on to cards.

Glue gets on the children's hands

and the children eat the glue

and the children become the horse.

Angel by Mimizu

Sunday, February 01, 2009


Alone in the whole world.

More daring and lighter than a bird

down the stairs, like a dizzy apparition,

you came to take me on your road,

through rain-soaked lilacs,

to your own possession,

to the looking glass world.

As night descended

I was blessed with grace,

the altar gate opened up,

and in the darkness shining

slowly reclining 

was your body naked.

You held a sphere in your palm, of crystal;

on your throne you were sleeping calm.

Belonging only to me,

you woke and at once transformed

the language humans speak and think.

Speech rushed up sonorously formed,

with the word "you" so much reformed

as to evolved a new sense meaning king.

And suddenly all changed,

like in a trance,

even trivial things, so often used and tried,

when standing between us, guarding us,

was water, solid, stratified.

It carried us, I don't know where.

Retreating before us,

like some mirage,

were cities, miraculously fair...

Behind us, our fate was groping,

like an insane man with a razor in his hand.