Organizing my pc..

I stumbled across these, forgotten under my picture folder. No other part of a city can denote its living, moving spirit more than street art.  

PARIS:

Paris (where even cigarette butts serve the art)

BRUSSELS (so many, selected my favorites from the Marolles):

ATHENS
out of many i selected this (oh those greek poets), which can only lose in translation: Love or nothing...

To the sea

The route from Nicosia to Limassol was always my favorite as a child (and the most frequent too). Mostly because of the anticipation.

Its a rather boring drive through the highway that crosses brownish hills with scarce vegetation, at that yellowish sort of green frequently found at the area of eastern Mediterranean or Middle East (wherever you would place this little island). And suddenly after about 40 minutes of drivingand counting of numerous brown bushes, somewhere around Zygi, there is appears. The first blue ribbon inbetween the hills, the first sign of water, that very first glimpse of the sea. 

I remember our faces, mine and my brother's, as children stuck on the left window at the back seat of our old car, restless, staring hill after hill, bush after bush. Waiting.

"It's the sea !! It' s the sea!! It's the sea!!' we would yell in the car with that sort of excitement children get with the simplest things that exist, and that sort of excitement that fades away with growth or maturity as they like to say.

From that moment, you know. Its only a few minutes to the sea. A while later you are there. You lay on the water, floating, with your arms open, and your eyes closed. The sun is so bright that you cant even see darkness (if seeing darkness is possible) when you close your eyelids. You can feel the sun kissing your face and your forehead and your belly, the water subtly drifting your body, the voice of the people out there in the world fade away. And you let go. 

I had lots to say...

about clear blue skies, and blue seas, and the feeling of the hot sand under your feet, and water-melons, and summer dresses and movies under the stars.

but as i open my mouth no voice comes out of it.
Both real loss and real lonelyness require silence.

Maybe some other time...   

At the office

Staring at the page. Still.
On top of a pile of boring textbooks and tables with numbers, and graphs and hand-written notes. 
There lies in-between the lines i am reading over and over again the little red threat. 
Ignore it. 
Even better, hide it with my flashy green highlighter used to signify the important information to be stored in  memory.
No use. Still there.
Trying to read. Highlight. Take notes. Remember.
Still there. That little red threat.
Pull it. Follow the threat along the lines.
To worlds where important information cannot be highlighted. To worlds without numbers, without highlighters, without time. To worlds with lovers and bodies and kisses and stars and jasmine-smelling nights of August. 


Daydreaming is my favorite office activity...