Showing posts from 2012

Think of the woman selling pineapples

I rarely go back to read my journals. I have a whole stack of them in my room at my parents' house but they all get shoved around from one shelf to another, piled up on each other or spread out and wedged among other books here and there. I have been writing stuff down ever since I knew how to write, and -surprise surprise- most of this stuff is about myself and how I experience the world.
Most of the stuff I write is also boring, even to my self-centered self, and it begins serving no purpose almost immediately after being put down on paper. 
As of late however, after having recently embarked upon life as an adult (and by that I mean the stage where I am finally out of a hormone haze and fully the captain of my own ship, and all the decision-making and consequence-bearing that that entails), I have realised that the frequency with which the important phases of my life occur has increased, and with it, the frequency with which I go back to my adult journals.
I went through incred…


I'm walking down the street,
gathering my stray thoughts.

The pack of dogs is not following me tonight.
They are lying in the church under the candlelit dome and sleeping.

I think: How beautiful this road that leads me home.
The balconies,
the windows and the doors,
the fragrant smells of food that penetrate the mud brick walls
and find me on these lonely streets.

I try to peer through windows and curtains
to feel my neighbours' lives.

In arrogance of love I question their reality
and think: have these people ever really lived.

I think of you
and like a little tea candle I flicker and I shiver
and I melt into a puddle of human flesh,
with a beating heart still pounding on the dirty, cobbled pavement.

I pick myself up from the ground and hurry home before the
neighbours glance out their low windows
and see my sorry state.

The evening light is drowned in yellow
from the street lamps

and I walk through gold to reach my house.

Just in Time


The bearer of the Pearl - III

A whisper:

Pearl, I'm here.
Give up your velvet mantles
and deny your silky past.

Wake up you sleepy pearl
I'm here to take you.

You've grown lethargic, dull and cynical,
and all you do is yawn and sink in supple cushions.
Shuffling around in restless gluttony, you bruise your oyster bearer.

Cmon, get up, uproot yourself and dare to
float into the depths with me.

Bearer might suffer and might die,
but it is my turn now,
and failure's not an option.

I gave the rusty knife away
but I have nails
and I will sink them into flesh to rip you out.

Don't worry - I'll wipe away the blood
and put my arms around you.

I'll kiss your opaque and inhale your glow.

I'll comfort you. We'll swim off in the darkness
and infuse the sea with light. 

I look into your sphere
and see myself, Pearl. 

Know I vow the truth now.

Come on. Wake up. Let's go. 

The bearer of the pearl - II

I've tied myself to the blood-carved boat
and dive into the dark
to get my Pearl.

The bubbles they engulf me,
closing up behind me the earthly world.
I sink in Blue
and melt into Black.

I'm brave and happy,
and I've forgotten the scent of
freshly rained-on pines
and crackling wood.

Gravity and bipedalism foregone,
this multidimensional space I find myself in
does not overwhelm me. I'm free.

The sea is now my home,
and I will swim in it
until my lungs burst
and my heart gets broken.

Twinkling plankton laugh at me,
I'm nobler than all of you,
get lost!
-a woman made of brains and heart,
you wouldn't know.

And oh you fish!
you form your endless circles
in the millions -
you think you can escape the squawking seagull's strike?
You cowards, 
look beyond your spiral act.

Medusas and three-hearted monsters,
transluscent you,
you cannot reach my solid core.
My heart is one but it beats strong
and it will shatter you into pieces:
what once was you
will be a crater
of my so…


Six months I have waited to see you.
For six months you have been chewing on my brain
and injecting my neurons with your name.

For six months the continents have slowly been drawn to each other
with invisible magnets
and now I am ready to step from mine to yours,
like from one bank of a flowing stream to another.

Yeah, so my life is filled with sadness.

It's like I've peeled Life's layers away
to reveal the core. 

And at her heart, what do i see?

Death and Love.

I hold each concept with each hand
and try to balance on my tightrope.

For six months you have been peeling my own layers
and you've placed a mirror in my path.
I've seen the doubts, and dealt with them.
i've seen the disbelief, and dealt with it.
I've seen the insecurity, and dealt with it.
I've seen the fears, and dealt with them.

And then I saw the strength, and drew from it.
I saw support, and drew from it.
I saw the love, and I have cracked my own cocoon.

And now, I'm ready to emerge and fly t…


Look how lives change from one day to another.

From summer love to winter cancer
we have slowly been eating life's little ice cream
while it's been rapidly melting away.

I want to write
but my brain has gone to sleep.

I walk around with my heart on my eyes.

I open my mouth to speak but only spiralling bats fly out
and away
with that fluttering silent murmurur.

My love for you is untainted but tinged with
an underlying sadness,
like the soggy base of an otherwise perfect cake.

Nowadays, the dreamy thought of you intersperses
my dark thoughts,
like a shining ray piercing
through stormy clouds.

But soon, it struggles and flickers and shies
behind the greys
when the storm collects its horrible troops again.

For days I sit in my room while it closes in:
I push the walls apart.

In the darkness, I balance on a tightrope
with clumsy feet,
between life and joy and hope
and a plunge into despair.

I push the rug apart and reveal the water.

I take a dive in this ocean of pain
and fish ou…

When you're moving in the positive


Tuesday morning!


I promise I try but I'm stuck

You’re wondering when I’m going to write my next poem.
Believe me I’ve written down hundreds of words in the past few weeks.
But none of them fulfils me.

None breaks free from my brain space into pixels onto screen with a

None has me running starstruck wearing peacock feathers in my eyes through the jasmine-sprinkled streets.

None comforts me.

None lights up like fireflies in the darkness of my room.

None sits on my eyelids to recount a dream.

I stare at the walls but I can’t see a word as beautiful as my fluttering insides.

Hey boy, none makes my heart uproot itself from arteries and veins and jump up to my throat

Like your name does.



AUG 22, 2012

They say you can't find beauty anymore these days.
It's there, it's there, it's there. In unexpected places!

The neighbours are discussing what to cook for lunch:
"Oh kori, I don't know, was gonna make the porkchops
and some pasta on the side. And you?
I'm making lentils, kori mou, you know, with rice,
the way Antonis likes them."

The bowl of water left out for the street cats.

The thought of being thought of.

The unexpected facebook post that quietly stuns you:

"...we saw no Cranes today but a
few thousand White Storks were thermalling upwards from behind the masts. 
Some came back down again, some sat on top of the aerial masts, one sat on horizontal wires,
they all took flight again. 
They moved towards the sea but circled back again and were
over Ammohostos at around 1.30 pm."

Then they were gone.

Distracted by glowsticks, still watching stars

I don't care about the jasmine on the balcony,
or the melon on the table
or the meteors falling.

Although I know the reason for the state I'm in
lies deep within their very own existence,
I still don't care.

Feeling united with the world by the realisation of the continuous thread that runs between each and every single living thing on this here planet and beyond, well...
it just makes me lonely.

I try to break these mortal lines confining me to stretchmarks and acne
and come find you
so we can play high up in the stratosphere,
but the laws of physics are boring,
and I wish someone would break them down.

But in this place they all conform:
to lines, to shapes, to colours, to gravity.

I've never met so many people
scared of Love before.

Though I have roots,
sometimes I feel like a levitating wanderer.
My earth is in my head,
my roots are in my head.
This physical space does nothing for me.
Aesthetics gets raped daily.
I blow a bubble and bundle up in it.
For me the wor…


hoopoe hopping on a summer's day; here we are, striped black and white and flashing crowns of facebook flirts and future days.
you might not know what these words mean but it's okay. i don't know either.
brain works in mysterious ways and the universe just knows the way things go: as long as we are truthful, the stars are looking down in smiles.
Ever since meeting you
my life is drenched in coffee.
Replacing caffeine for touch
and cups for cuddles.

I run around this town with bloodshot eyes
looking for signal.

Drowning in daydreams
I'm losing touch.
The thought of you has pushed me to the edge
of reason
and i'm hanging out in dirty seaside towns
drinking vodka and cranberry juice so sweet
my tummy's frowning up at me
with age-long wisdom and the grumps.

To imagine what you'd taste like.

as of late, the drunken dawn just slaps me in
the face with brutal reprehension, as I reach ou…

Amy this is for you

Was going to write a post about how much I wish you were here to make more music but i'm too happy to be sad so there. I love you all be you dead or alive!

Conversation with my older self




400 °C

I'm sitting at the kitchen table
feeling my skin turn into crust.

Today, I am smouldering charcoal.

Surprised at the sight of simmering skin
that fights to escape
the skirt, the bra, the sandal
I run my hands down the
sides of my body,
wiping away the sweat.

Scooping my hair up with my palms,
I attach it with a

I touch my neck.

Now, it feels like summer.

It is midday, and the scorching streets are deserted.
People, like lizards, are hiding.
It's dead quiet. Only the last brave cicadas are still breathless
for love.

I hear the sweat beads being born like honeydew,
trickling bedrowsed down my bare back.
Opening little mouths for air,
they struggle to fly and
to the floor, steaming.

I put some Lana on
cause she knows how I'm burning.
I stare at her lips on my laptop screen
and reach for the fridge.

Ice cubes tinkering in glass
I pour out some rose cordial.

I don't wanna answer my phone
or see anyone.
Don't wanna go to the beach.
Just want to…

Aliens and stuff

If I could taste your words

this world would be a little better.

The bearer of the knife - I

I wrote you a poem

and then I lost it, I must've thrown it away.

This is what it is like to have your thoughts invaded by the bearer of the knife.

It went something like this:

You say I gave you back your knife. A rusty blade, a wooden handle.
How can you be surprised?

I could get married to your sadness.

I'd curl up naked and live in your eyes. Forever more.

I'd cut myself to share your pain.

I'd give up light and lurk in shadows, just like you.

I'd give up words. A dowry of silence. 


My bearer of the knife,

we: united by fears, exchanging blades. 

The bearer of the pearl - I

I go to sleep and wake up with only one thought: of the pearl at the bottom of the ocean.
Wild and beautiful
buried in the soft flesh of its bearer, sleeping.
Waiting to be dislodged from its molluscan womb
and brought to the surface.

Fish and piano chords

I am in love with you
because you are sane.

Not in the conventional and boring sort of way,
the way of serious young men
who are walking along the straight line that will take them to their forgetful death
comfortably but surely.

I'm talking about the sanity
that springs from years of self-reflection
and the ultimate conviction to be happy.

The kind of sanity that brings down mountains
but uprises volcanoes.

The one that lets you use words
that connect your planets to mine,
and makes you interesting and easy going
and effortlessly loveable and cool.

Ah - you are not afraid of life
nor people,
nor the strings that tie them together.
Believe me, you are a breath of fresh air in this stale country I find myself in.
I wish to love you with all my heart.


With your happiness and mine,
we could make a world of oranges and lemons
of shallow blue seas
and quiet miracles.

We could reinstate the magic of nightime explorations
through gar…


Look what I found. I love these songs, they're powerful. I don't really listen to much rap/hip-hop but this is good stuff!!

And how the fuck did they make a beat out of this? It's like the same thing over and over but it's so smooth...

Just love the flow in this one..

I can't stop listening to this guy

yes yes yes

uhh...oh my god...

And well this is just a classic.

Running water

I am tired of chasing after shadows,
and this hopeless feeling is turning me desperate.
To think I once was one!
Hiding under a heavy purple cloak
I would make excuses for myself
and my inabilities.
Disappearing like a fine transparent fabric
that courts with the darkness and the light,
I would make excuses for myself
and my inabilities.

To think I am now pathetically saddened by the silence
when for so long I dwelled in it.
My previous self would have laughed in scorn
should she have seen my current state.

Get up, girl, and get rid of all these needs. 

People are like running water.
They give life and then they leave you thirsty. 
They play with the colours and the pebbles,
they carry away the leaves that fall in their currents
and then they run dry in the hard times. 

Can you blame them? "No I can't".
Can you judge them? "No I can't".
What can you do? 

"I can love their white skins in the morning when they wake."

And what can you do?

"I can wait till …

Through the window comes the snow*

* Thanks σταφσι.


I'm speaking loud and clear.
can anyone hear me?

Or are you all busy catering to your neuroses
and your fears?

I know you feel lonely - I can hear you from behind the walls.
All that scratching and shuffling,
no reason to deny it.
We all live in a hole called self.

The nightflowers are here. Did you see them?
Did you feel the season changing?
Did you see all the old men and women coming out of their houses for a walk
accompanied by their Philippino ladies?

They're not afraid of the cold these days.

They're not afraid of death these days.

They're scared of the empty room
that awaits them in the morning
and echoes goodnight (goodnight) before they go to bed.

So you think you're any different?
Not susceptible to the human condition? Young and immortal, with time to spare feeling sorry for yourself and holding a chainsaw against your brain?

What have you done about your lonelinnes, huh?

Did you try to love yourself a little more?

You don't want to go around carryi…

Letter from afar

Γράφω σου που μακριά. Εδώ, το σπίτι μας, μια κουκκίδα στο χάρτη. Ο κόσμος μας, μια κουκκίδα στο χάρτη. Εδώ, τα προβλήματα μας αναπνέουν, πιάννουν τόπο, λύνουνται.
Εδώ, το τέλος του κόσμου το ορίζει μόνο η θάλασσα και η ατμόσφαιρα και όχι ο νούς μας.
Εδώ οι μέρες δεν σκοτώνονται πετώντας στον αυτοκινητόδρομο με 200 χιλιόμετρα την ώρα αλλά κυλάνε νωχελικά, σαν πελώωωωριες ρόδες ποδηλάτου, διακτινίζονται σε παράλληλα σύμπαντα και εσύ διαλέγεις τι θέλεις και παίρνεις, σαν απο μενού λιχουδιών απο νουτέλλα.
Εδώ, γίνεσαι τρισδιάστατος, ξεκολλάς απ'τον τοίχο, παίρνεις ανάσα ξαφνικά φουσκώνεις τη ψυχή σου, κοιτάς κάτω και βλέπεις το βάθος σου, ρίχνεις σελίνι και κάνεις ευχές.
Εδώ, ο κόσμος είναι πολύχρωμος, τολμά να γεμίζει το μυαλό του φεγγαροκλωστές που ενώνουν πλανήτες σκέψεων, ποιήματα. Τολμούν να κατεβάζουν τα όνειρα απ' τους ιστούς και τα βάθρα και να πίνουν τσάι μέντας μαζί τους, φαντάσου! Ερωτεύονται!
Τα άδεια τσόφλια ανθρώπων είναι πολύ μακριά μου εδώ.
Εδώ, το χιόνι κάνει τους φόβους αγγέλους που τους ζυ…

I can't think of a title, it's Friday.

Even though I am constantly being reminded that I live in a country of cave-dwelling Neanderthals (no offense to the species, but they did hit an evolutionary dead-end), I also keep meeting people that give me hope and strength to keep on doing what I love. You all know who you are, because you’re standing in the sunshine and you’re staring at the sun with your eyes wide open. I can see your tears of happiness and I too try painfully to keep mine open. 

This country needs its "pioneering" children. I am looking forward to the day when this society realises it loves its kids who have “strayed” slightly off the beaten (Cypriot) track and finally recognises them on the basis of merit and not “meson”. I can't wait till being different is a good thing, being clever but good is a good thing, being honest is a good thing, being innovative is a good thing, but until our society wakes up to these things we will live in the shadows of our caves…
My relationship with Cyprus is a lo…

Les Jours Tristes


Puzzles and bee-eaters

Oh boy. So many things I could tell you if you let me. If you ever let me- you look like a nice person but so troubled and lost. Do you love yourself? Or do you stare in disbelief as people around you fall to your feet?

I am not one of them - I am your equal - I am your sister and I can hold you in my arms for as long as I have to- but you seem so scared of the world and I get scared too and want to run away.
Your dark eyes trouble me- never before have I looked into dark eyes- I hope I don't get lost. I will not force you to speak to me or see me- I will be strong in the face of your endless moodswings and waverings- I am my own person, I make my own decisions based on my good judgement and not on the darkness of your eyes or the shape of your arms.
I can resist you, and be your friend, but only if you want to. I fear we have started off on the wrong foot, what with me letting you in. I felt your confusion, I felt your anger, and it hurt- I was even offended that you would want …

Sleepless: teenage scribbles

The nightflowers are dead
and anyone who thinks they know doesn't.
Another slow awakening of this town finds me chin in palm on the windowsill. It is quiet, and the air smells of the fresh promise that yawns in pink and pastel, softening the jagged edges of the unhappy mountains, but I am hopelessly thinking of you still. I can see your face there in the distant stray cloud, you mean nothing to me! but it lingers in my mind like the smoke lingering above my head refusing to dissolve, refusing to believe its short-liveness, now scorching its way through down to my chest.
We have nothing in common but our fear for what might come.
I pass the cigarette on to the next dyad of fingers and pick up the pencil, I scribble you down then your name in the air - I see no hope as I am scattered in the atmosphere. Sometimes I hate you for it but today I am serene, with only myself to blame for my feelings, my tears, my silent vaporisation.
I leave me here melting down to the sill.

The stars they come down

I am not afraid of love. I recently found it is the answer to my existential problems and fears. You might say this is a long-known fact. Yes, I have grown up with nothing but love but seeing as I have just started to face death as a palpable realisation, I have also just started to face love as the real and palpable solution. These past few months I have had the interesting and scary experience of being woken up at night by the fear of nothingness. And I have tried to lull myself back to sleep with promises of success, accomplishment, riches and fame but nothing seemed to work better than the promise of love. We all fear it so much and some of us always have this image of growing old alone and lonely but we all know that the most important thing in our lives is this, even though it is washed out of our brains and our reality daily by all of society’s “more pressing" matters.
I can’t remember where I read this (probably in Odysseus Elytis’s poetry) but somewhere it was written t…

edin to cy 2010

glistening streets from the snow
like exploding stars when I am high
or pending meteorites spinning
when I am drunk
like that one time
on half a line of ketamine
and I thought the world wore a halo of colours
or my eyes became rainbow,
walking down the quiet streets
at 3am
the wind crinkling my skin
water seeping through and crackling in the soil
life bubbling with remorse
and regret
life longing to be lived right
but knowing that I'll grow up to be a bitter old woman
and lonely
born pessimistic, I will turn into that eventually
no matter how much I wish not to
I am preconditioned
and fate is dragging my feet round the corner
wanting so much for him to be standing there
in front of the door
that I actually expect to see him
and form him there
even when I see he's not
oh boy
am I in trouble
when my core is lying a 5 hours plane ride away
passed out on dry dirty tarmac
with cat piss
and the smell of night
and the taste of killer ouzo
and some honking pervert passer by
so I must …


I thought I had gotten over the emo teenage phase for good when I left here 5 years ago, but it seems like this place brings out the grunge in everything. I can feel it calling from behind the concrete. I hadn't actually properly listened to grunge in years, yet it's all I've been listening to for the past few days. Maybe this is why I have been malfunctioning lately. If I were new age I'd say I feel like my aura is polluted or I got a blocked chi or something.
This is one of my favourite albums of all time. It's just so beautiful.

Anyway, I wrote this poem once when I unwillingly fell out of love and suffered the consequences.
Things are finally starting to fall back into place.
I am becoming healthy enough to go out and 
about again
doing the things that make me unhealthy,
important decisions are being made,
projects are embarked upon,
things are ticked off lists
and lists are getting smaller.
My manic friends are calm for now
and waking up to see the shattered glasses
of …

My Sweet Rosa

I got photos in my inbox this Valentine's. Beautiful photos, the best present I could have gotten. From different people, in different corners of the earth. I'm so lucky and I'm grateful for all the love, everyday.

If anyone is reading, sorry about the rubbish posts, but I will be back with better stories soon. My favourite season in the whole wide world is approaching, and I haven't enjoyed it properly in years. For once, I have no exams and I am in Cyprus where spring is at its most amazing.

One of these days, when the weather is sweet, I will take a day off and go out in the fields.

I watched this documentary yesterday. 

It was interesting, but mostly because the subject of the documentary is so wildly interesting. Rosa's powerful personality, fascinating story and mesmerising presence, even in her old age, makes you almost magically drawn to her without needing much effort from the director and his colleagues.

Some of the performances of the songs by contempora…

Weekend blues

I hate weekends. Ever since I was a kid I've hated the thought of having to go through another boring weekend. Not that weekdays were ever better, cause I really hated school. But there was something utmostly depressing about the weekend, especially those Sundays where I had to face everything I hadn't done the week before as well as the impending Monday ahead of me.
Luckily now I cant wait for Monday cause I really enjoy going to work. But weekends remain the same, and I find it hard to get out of bed and out of my pyjamas to deal with them as I know I should.

Ah Amy...


Sing it, Nina!

A guaranteed cure for the blues. To be listened to until symptoms disappear.


It's been two long weeks...I think my brain has entered "Cyprus Mode" for good now, which means I need to stop and take a breath. And remember the deep forests and the waterfalls of the world.
At least I have recalled what Friday afternoons mean. I never thought the smell of the lazy Friday afternoons of my primary-school years would come back. But it hit me as soon as I got into the car to drive home yesterday- it was sunny and there were two kids riding their skateboards in my neighbourhood. And I had nothing to do for the rest of the day.
I went birdwatching today...I actually enjoyed it. Even though birds are kind of nervous creatures, time rolled by more slowly than usual.
Lately I've been running the notion that one suffers from a lack of perspectives in Cyprus. It's not like Edinburgh, where you have the different layers and levels in the city, which offer plenty of perspectives and continuous fresh points of view both literally and metaphorically. There&…

Indonesia: The Tower

Diary entry from Sunday 17th July 11:

Woke up at 04:20 to go to the tower with Cynthia and Eric. My headtorch was very faint so I was really unsure of my steps in the forest- fell off the railway planks once: acquired a new bruise. Squelched in the mud for a bit to get to the tower- Cynthia was in front of me and fell into all these holes so I didn't have to.
Eric climbed the tower first, then Cynthia and I was last. In a moment, my heart started  beating very fast and I felt my arms and legs weak and wobbly. From the sudden adrenaline rush I realised I must be scared of heights and how high I had to climb on that slippery red ladder. 
The tower is 45 meters tall and there are several different levels with a small platform so I could take a breath at each level before climbing to the next one. Climbing was a bit tiring for the arms and as I was clenching my muscles out of fear on the way up they were very tense and painful by the time I got to the top. I had to sit on the top for …

Indonesia: Sweet Chicken with Pineapple

One of my closest friends in Indonesia was Lis. He is the camp cook and one of the nicest individuals I have ever met. We made a video with one of our favourite dishes by Lis. It's easy and delicious...Enjoy :)