I was with you all the way
through the good times and the bad
We were close together
But you just had to let me go
And so I held on to you as hard as I could
I wrapped myself around you as best as possible
I cried “don’t leave me” as loud as my voice could be heard
And none of it mattered
You cut me in half
You put me in a plastic bag
And paraded me on skype
I loved you
Why couldn’t you love me back
Κολυμπάς μέσα σε μία τεράστια λίμνη αναζητώντας το αύριο.
Τα ζεστά νερά της σε γεμίζουν αισιοδοξία ότι το όνειρο είναι εκεί κοντά και σε περιμένει.
Εκείνη σου γνέφει να πας δίπλα της και την πλησιάζεις.
Λάμπετε κάτω από τις ακτίνες ενός ήλιου που δεν ξεχνά.
Τίποτα δεν μένει κρυφό σε αυτήν τη μεριά του κόσμου.
Σου ψιθυρίζει “όσα ήταν ζωντανά μέσα σου, έχουνε πεθάνει μέσα μου”.
Και ένα αεράκι σηκώνεται από κάπου μακριά και ανατριχιάζεις.
Εκείνη δεν είναι πια.
Η λίμνη έχει σκοτεινιάσει.
Αναζητείς την ακτή.
Μέσα στη λίμνη του χθες.
κάθε που κοιτάς κάτω από το κρεβάτι
αναζητώντας ένα παράθυρο διαφυγής
κάθε που κλέβεις μια ματιά από το μέλλον
και ψιθυρίζεις “όλα καλά, μείνε εκεί”
είναι που λήγει ο χρόνος μου σ’αυτόν τον κόσμο
και τριγυρνώ, λησμονώντας τη νοσηρή σου ανατολή
κάθε που μυρίζω στο φεγγάρι τ’ αρωμά σου
και που ψηλαφιστά αισθάνομαι τη διαφυγή
κάθε που κλέβω μια ματιά απ’ την ψυχή σου
και αναλογίζομαι τι ώρα να ‘ναι κάπου εκεί
είναι που τρέχει πάλι το τρένο στο κορμί σου
και ‘γω γυρίζω, λαθρεπιβάτης, μες στο κελί
κάθε που βλέπεις, να ζυγώνει, άλλη μια μέρα
απομακρύνεσαι, πυροβολώντας, τη σιωπή
κάθε που αισθάνομαι τη δόλια αναπνοή σου
και τόσο λίγος, παραμένω, ακροατής
για να μου λες, τα παραμύθια του ονείρου
είναι αργά, δεν έχουμε άλλο, υπομονή
“It will be the best interview you’ve ever taken”, the voice at the other end of the telephone told me. I wanted to tell him that I’ve never done an interview before but his voice was so imposing while saying these words, radiated such an immense level of certitude, that I felt a lump in my throat and nothing could come out of it.
“Just remember, don’t be late, and don’t ask anything.”
I said a terrified “thank you” but he had already hung up the phone. Probably it was for the best he did not hear the fear in my voice. Perhaps that would lead him to cancel the whole thing, and despite my worries, this was the best thing I had going and it was already Tuesday morning.
I checked at my phone again to make sure I had enough time to get to the ECA. He told me that the interview would take place at 10:45 and it was still 7:23. I didn’t mind that he had called so early in the morning, after all, I could barely sleep all night and was up since 6, trying to figure out what I was going to do with my assignment for this week.
I thought of passing on that one, after all, it wasn’t one of the graded pieces we’d be doing. I thought that David could understand my position, me being a “foreigner” in these parts, not a large social, or professional social circle, I mean, it would be quite reasonable to say that I couldn’t come up with anyone interesting to interview, right?
Yet, my ego (and a fear of David) couldn’t leave me be. After he made me realize that using Stratos as a guinea pig -again!- had no real value to my project, I was left with nothing. Who could I find? And for a face to face interview above all! It was absurd! Really!
I had prepared a whole bunch of questions for Stratos, just in case I could make it work, find that hook. Young parent, left home for a better life, wife and infant daughter back home, such a “sad” story. But who was I kidding. This was not a typical sob story. Yes, those elements were true, but did anyone really care about this everyday life story? Maybe people back home would, using him as another Greek who left in the midst of the sociopoliticalfinancial crisis. But a room of film journalism students would they give a damn about it? I could try and present it in a really catchy way, I was really confident about my writing –and creative– skills, but at the end of the day, it would just be him. No. I had to think of something else.
And on Sunday morning, it hit me. I would put up an ad on Gumtree. Man seeking interesting person to take an interview. Well, my ad was a bit more colorful than that. I did say the person would have to provide some really intriguing background, perhaps, some sort of unique accomplishments in life, something inspiring maybe, not necessarily out of the ordinary, but…catchy. I needed a great hook. That word had stayed with me since last Tuesday’s course. I mean, I knew the term from ages ago, but it just got pinned on the walls of my brain and I kept thinking of it. I even put it in my ad. “Could use someone with an exciting hook.” To be fair, I had second thoughts about how the structure of that sentence looked. I felt I hadn’t used it proper and might confuse the readers, but was too stressed to lose time researching grammar rules to change a minor thing.
Sunday went by without any response to my ad. I was going back to my idea of using Stratos, going through the questions, trying to think of new ones, maybe talk about our days of making films together. But no, that would be even worse. Stratos never really cared about it in the way I did, the way most people in the course would. Anything he would have to say about our filming days would probably sound too boring for a room of film buffs. However, I liked the idea of interviewing him about that time, and made a note to do it later that month, put it up on the blog. Could be fun.
Monday came and still no reply. Life kept going, and I had other things to occupy my head other than that stupid interview. Face to face. I wondered what the others would come up with. I was sure most of them would have found really exciting people to interview. Or maybe not. Maybe they were as stuck as I was. Maybe they were just too cool about it. I suddenly got angry with myself for worrying about this so much. It’s not even going to be graded! “Bloody hell”, I thought with a typical British accent that echoed in my head.
I decided not be a prisoner of my own shortcomings, and just enjoy life. I would just have to admit defeat and tell David that I just couldn’t come up with someone to interview. Maybe he would give me a nice tip and I could get the assignment for next week. Then I thought he had mentioned we could interview him. But that idea didn’t seem to stick either. It was pathetic. It was even worse than not handing in anything. At least by skipping the assignment I could show him I had the balls to move forward, accept the empty space that would dominate that spot next to “Week 5”. And after all, I had no idea what I could ask David. Of course I could ask tons of things out of curiosity and interest, but who knows if he had something exciting to share that could hook others.
But what if he did….? What if he had a dark past? What if…nah. I wouldn’t allow myself to go down that path. For all I knew, Stratos could be hiding the craziest shit in his head. So no Stratos, no David. That was the deal I made with myself. An eye for an eye. I was pathetic.
And so Tuesday came, and the stress returned overnight. But with it, came my very own dues ex machine. While refreshing casually my inbox, I found a reply to my ad. Instantly I clicked on it, thinking that maybe all hope was not lost after all. The message was short, but clear.
“You will interview Mr. Davis later this morning. He will give you what you need. More details to follow by phone. Karl.”
And in less than an hour later, my mobile phone was ringing. Karl gave me a place and a time in his weird voice, that sounded as if someone was scratching a blackboard with his long and pointy fingernails. I could feel my fillings ache, but didn’t pay much attention, as I was trying to write down all the information he was passing along. My hand was shaking. No. That’s a lie. My hand was not shaking unfortunately. I was pretty calm, but excited nevertheless.
After having another cup of coffee, I got dressed, washed up, and after checking the Lothian bus app on my phone, I stormed out the flat to catch number 3 that was coming in 3 minutes.
Sitting as always by the window on the left side of the bus, I tried to think if I had forgotten anything important back home. I checked my backpack and made sure my laptop’s plug was there, my adaptor, keys, and wallet. I was planning on heading straight to Brew Lab after the interview and write my piece there. I would be taping the thing on my phone. I thought about the term “taping” since it would be digital recording, and realized that “recording” was the correct word. I congratulated myself for finding the right word without help.
Walking from the Surgeons’ Hall bus stop towards Bristo Square where I’d catch the buses that went through ECA, I ran through my head once more that conversation with Karl. I realized that I had no idea about who Mr. Davis was, nor what his profession was. I literally had no clue what he would be talking to me about. But I didn’t care. Karl had made it clear that I were to ask no questions whatsoever. Mr. Davis would just provide me with all the material I needed. He would give me the hook I wanted. Fair enough. Not only would I actually bring an assignment to David, but it was going to be, hopefully, the weirdest one too.
Before I knew it I was stepping inside the main entrance hall at the ECA. I tried to think how I got there, but I must have been so lost in my own thoughts that I got on a bus, got off, and walked there without paying much attention to the process. Right. Karl said Mr. Davis would be at room LL.14. I checked the time and it was twenty past ten. I had some time to spare, and decided to just check my emails, check facebook, check-in on Foursquare, just random stuff, while I gazed at the ECA students who roamed the corridors in a quite nonchalant way. Art students are so different from all other students. Not just in terms of appearance, but in terms of the way they carry themselves. They’re…just…cool I guess. And young. My God I’m old I thought.
At twenty-five to eleven I decided to head for LL.14. But it was then that it dawned on me I had no clue where LL.14 was. Without freaking out, I walked to the receptionist’s desk and asked kindly about directions. Yes, LL.14 was one level down. With me being on the ground floor it was pretty safe to assume that LL.14 was on the basement, or lower level, for what LL stood for. Suddenly I got even more excited as the receptionist pointed towards the stairs at the back. I had used them on my first week of Digital Photography class to find the toilets. I remembered how chilling and exciting I had found the basement at 9pm that Wednesday evening.
I walked a bit faster than I had to, and soon was searching the corridors in the basement for LL.14. A couple of people passed by me, or I passed by them, students and what seemed like members of staff, but nobody paid attention to no one. I still felt it would be easy to locate LL.14 so there was no need for further assistance. I also was a bit skeptical about making my reasons for being there known. For the first time I thought of the reason Mr. Davis was there. Maybe he was a professor. Maybe LL.14 was his…office? Nah, probably his workshop. Finding LL.12 next to LL.13 I knew I was close to LL.14. I checked the time. I was already two minutes late.
Victory came at the sight of a small, greenish door. A handwritten large sticker on it read “LL.14”. I walked up to it and put my hand on the handle. The note seemed quite new, but before thinking more about it, I had already turned the handle.
I walked in a bright-lit room that neither an office, nor a workshop. It was a rectangle-shaped room, with white plastered walls, a high ceiling, and two bulbs hanging from their cables that provided a strong, and quite eerie yellowish light. On one end there was a wooden ladder, a couple of buckets of paint, and a few brushes. There was the distinct smell of fresh paint, and instinctively I sniffed the air.
As I let the door close behind me, I saw there was a huge panel on the right side of the room. It kept one-third of it hidden from view, and from behind it, he spoke to me.
“You are late.” His voice had a deep accent, but not a British one. It sounded more like Eastern European.
“I am sorry, it was a bit hard to find the room. Are we..”
“We are staying here.” He walked out from behind the panel and I saw him for the first time. He was of medium build, a man in his mid-forties, with thick grayish hair, that seemed to be perfectly combed. He wore a brown jacket, and dark grey pants, and a black vest. He was fixing his glasses on his nose with his left hand, while his right hand remained in the pocket of his jacket. He had a kind face, and was smiling. I found that unexpected, as his voice had sounded a bit harsh, and judging from Karl, I was prepared for a real weirdo. I sighed, but not too strongly, and moved towards him extending my right hand.
“I have your hook” he said as he came to me with his left arm extended. As soon as he was shaking my hand, he pulled his right hand out of his pocket and instead of five fingers, I saw a shiny, metal hook. As the pointy end gently punctured my throat, I saw my arterial blood spray the wall. My last thought was of David. I wondered what he would make of all this.
In time it will come back to you.
In time you will remember.
Pleasure in forgiveness.
Absolution comes in pieces of a jigsaw.
The bodies of two men dance around in circles.
Lights gleaming through the rooftop on a night sky.
Red. Green. Blue.
Chaotic indifferences, we share a world apart.
Chaotic indifferences, we share a world apart.
Forever forgotten, strings echo in the corridor.
Piano lessons for a soul as old as time.
Give in to love. Break bread with me. My bed is yours to keep.
Mi amor te quiero. Mi amor te odio.
My picture on your wall, sliced open, with a razor.
Mi amor. Te odio.
Never look back, never back down, never stay down, never stand still.
The force majeure.
Undeniably irrelevant meanings to a life long gone.
Take the X out of the equation.
There are those who are, and there are those who aren’t.
I am neither of the two, yet I am both.
We lose in life in dreams in reality, we love.
In the absence of reason there is lack of emotions.
The Y spreads its limbs wide open.
Fear of the unknown, darkness consuming fear, darkness glowing, darkness is light.
Hear the necessity of life. Listen closely to the wooing of man.
I see you.
By the power of deduction I name thee resolution.
I won’t do it again, until I do it.
There was a time when there was a time when there was a time.
Dreams in reality, abortions break the rules, no one left behind.
I wonder what he sees in me through the peephole of his brain.
The naked parts intrigue us, but we dress the wounds.
Self-inflicted pain, self-immolation, self-mutilation, self-cannibalism.
The pain is only there when you are there.
Transcend your body, your reality, your ego, your ethos, your pathos.
The pain is gone.
Eat your dreams. And they will eat you back.
Undeniably beautiful, covered in white blood.
I take a leave of absence.
I am off to a new start.
I’ll see you in hell. I’ll see you in hell. I’ll see you in hell.