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Monthly Archives: December 2017

Reconnaissance Flight (short story)

The following story is a work of fiction and bears no relation to existing people or events.

Είχα ένα όνειρο πως πετούσα πάνω από ένα γυμνό σώμα και το παρακολουθούσα από ψηλά όπως μέσα από ένα ελικόπτερο. Η μπορεί να ήμουνα και τηλεκινούμενο, δεν ξέρω. Το σώμα αυτό, που είχε ανδρικά και γυναικεία στοιχεία, ήταν σαν μια απέραντη επέκταση. Το σώμα εμφανιζότανστην αρχικά σαν ένας ψηφιακός σκελετός, όπως ένα 3D animation πριν του περσάσεις το φίλτρο με την σάρκα καλύπτοντας το εξωτερικό. Μετά η εικονα άρχισε να αναβοσβήνει και εμφανίστηκε σαν κανονικό σώμα. Μόνο όταν έφτασα στο πρόσωπο και είδα το δικό σου κατάλαβα πως το σώμα που παρακολουθούσα είναι το δικό σου. Είχες τα μάτια σου κλειστά και ένα στεφάνι από λουλούδια στα μαλλιά όπως η Frida που και οι δύο μας αγαπάμε και κοιμόσουνα ήρεμα. Ούτε που έπαιρνες χαμπάρι το ελικόπτερο/τηλεκινούμενο που περνούσε από πάνω σου. Ξαφνιάστηκα και ντράπηκα τόσο πολύ που ξύπνησα αμέσως.

Σε παρακαλώ, μην εμφανίζεσαι άλλο πια στα όνειρα μου. Δεν αντέχω άλλο. Κάθε φορά που ακούω αυτό το τραγούδι σε σκέφτομαι και κλαίω. Θέλω να σταματήσω να κλαίω. Δεν θέλω να σε αναζητώ στα όνειρα μου. Δεν θέλω αλλά παρακοινωνικά όνειρα. Θέλω να σε βλέπω να χάνεσαι μακριά, πάντα ελεύθερη.

Panting Neon Princess Tastes The Candy Content With Contents

Aropax is Paxil, a drug for depression, anxiety and panic disorders. I think the line is ‘bow and aropax’, like bow and arrow. This song is beautiful and sad. ‘But it’s all the same to me’ describes the feeling of being on the meds, how it controls your feelings and there is no happiness or deep depression, it just makes you dull and dispassionate.


That is the difference.
No matter how sad or angry or hopeless I felt, I would rather kill myself than allow an expert to take away my ability to feel sadness or happiness in the name of normalcy.
The difference is that it never even crossed my mind that there was a way for me to escape from myself and become someone else. Or that attempting this would solve a damn thing. I could spend a lifetime panting trying to outrun myself. 
And if that exit into another life or self existed by virtue of being sanctioned by medicine or society, and being appreciatively written about in every medical journal and mainstream medium, it was obviously nothing I wanted.
That is the difference.  



Κλαις; (short story)

The following story is a work of fiction and bears no relation to existing people or events

Now you say you’re lonely
You cried the long night through
Well, you can cry me a river
Cry me a river
I cried a river over you

Nadja: Why are you looking at me like that?
Bill: I followed you down the street, once.

You ask people to forgive but you do not forgive yourself. And it’s very telling how you now respond by icing these people & withdrawing emotional intimacy seemingly as form of punishment.

Why nuke all these shared moments? Why burn Leda and the Swan? Emotional withdrawal and withdrawal of intimacy is what an abuser does in a toxic relationship.

You said you were a Kafka fan, and I remember how Kafka wanted all his work destroyed after his death. We are only able to read his works in the present because someone violated Kafka’s deathbed wish. I could no longer read Kafka when I found out.

Because I have saved a couple of the moments you’ve nuked, I have now unwillingly become the keeper of a secret.

I have a moment here where you’re drunkenly trying to play Bach. You stagger over to your piano, arrange the tabs with trembling hands & begin to play, I can tell by ear that you are messing up, quickly you give up. You stagger back to the microphone, you apologize, go back to the piano and then you play the blues which you manage better.

I kept this moment because I was surprised at how self-conscious you were of your playing despite being so drunk. I came across this moment while researching you, back when I was so angry at you yet fascinated enough to keep searching for the answers you would not give. It was a moment that humanized you in my eyes after I had so thoroughly dehumanized you, so I kept it. Because before that moment, I could only see you as a drunk in a dress.

This moment, by virtue of being memory-holed by you, has now been turned into a secret, and I have become the keeper of this secret against my will. Secrets burn a hole in your soul the way money burns a hole in your poket, and I hate being the keeper of secrets.