The pain in some songs*

breaks your soul into trillions of teeny tiny pieces,
each weighing a ton.
And then you have to go on with life.
Carrying them.

*or should I say, some circumstances?
 

41° 7' 9 Β - 25° 24' 19 E (part 2)

....Although someone could naively infer that I converge many a simile for your story, yavrum,  I know you would hate this simplistic way of  thinking as much you hate, say, a linear perception of history or life in general.
So, you say you don't remember me at all...Well, memory was never your strong point, sweetheart.
Or, to be accurate, objective memory, assuming there is such a thing. Because you really thrive in deleting whole parts and reconstructing others from scratch.
 Anyway, here I am, people still lining up their mosques and churches opposite one another, silently despising each other, yet having no choice but to live together in the same place. Pretty much like the average holy matrimony huh?
You do remember the invisible boundaries separating me in two parts, don't you? Even you had only crossed them, what, twice in 4 years? Some borders don't resemble anything like high walls or electrified wires, sweetheart and I constitute the paradigm of the case.
You people wouldn't be able to identify yourselves without borders and safe spaces-they're hardwired  to your bones. You protect, therefore you are. Don't give me that look, yavrum. Consider what you are doing with language: one for communicating, a foreign for expressing yourself. Safe space 101.
......................................................................................................................................................
So come back soon, for old times' sake, sweetheart. Treat yourself to some good old memories and  of course some delicious sutzuk lokum!
(but don't overindulge eh? Because I really dig your new skinny looks!)

41° 7' 9 Β - 25° 24' 19 E (part 1)

Οf course I remember you, sweetheart...The tall, clumsy one with the dreamy eyes..!
You were living your fairytale here and I was your perfect stage.
(well, constantly being in love sure helped if you ask me.)
Between lectures about tribes, clans and folklore, I still picture you hanging around with the girl-gang or sneaking out of the koutoukia to run to the rock bar (Wild Rose, right?) The whole town was on tables dancing tsifteteli and you air-guitared indie-rock tunes in their face, ha!
(and this pretty much sums up your status in the world, yavrum: you live in a place where everybody dreams about Istanbul while you're in a London state of mind. Talking about war of worlds here!

 ..............................................................................................................................................................
I tell you, someone had a really weird sense of humor putting a university department on history, minorities and social studies in this place. Between you and me, those who really need a degree in the field of minorities and culture stuff are the locals.
 ...............................................................................................................................................................
It's funny how you always get stupefied when people change, but don't you think it's time you got used to it, sweetheart?
You, for starters, are at least minus 35 pounds since I last saw you.
Some changes are only skin deep though and sometimes it's nearly impossible to tell them from the permanent ones, assuming one gets so lucky as being able to tell!
Take me for example: they demolished my good old square and replaced it with this showy one, full of  flashy cafes and bookstores. But underneath the surface there are a lot more than meets the eye.

[to be continued..]

The birthplace complication

-So listen kid, it all comes down to this: you've got a lot of revolution but zero suggestions or willingness to act. Just like hooligans who burn and destroy for lost causes.
- ...
You charm your way through those permanent transactions you people call relationships and you get lulled in a false sense of safety. But, you know, sooner or later everyone wants their return. That's the way it goes.
...I like it how you still find comfort coming here, remembering your childhood and everything. But don't let that sneaky thing, nostalgia, get you, you hear me kid? Because once you get sucked in, it has the ability to paralyze your guts. And then you become what you mostly resent.
...I will always be here for you kid, relatively the same, a couple of new coffee shops, a few blocks of old houses renovated, minus some elderly folks, plus some hipsters. Feel free to visit. But only come back in order to move forward.

As I walked away, a gust of wind brought a whisper to my ears. And the whisper said:
"I know you're going to the sea again prettyface"

On decoherence in quantum gravity

Without a shadow of a doubt, the procrastinator's superpower is stretching - literally stretching- time in their favor.
A procrastinator with a bad memory -ah- that's what I call pure magic, as they have the ability to make time almost invisible, if not extinct.
A bored procrastinator with a bad memory is in a constant standstill in time.
For, defying action, time and memory at the same time means they are in a state of being and not being at the same time (yeah I know, Schrödinger would be so proud!)

 References:
Time Might Not Exist Outside of Our Minds, Propose Scientists
On decoherence in quantum gravity

Thoughts running through my head

And I feel that love is dead
I'm loving angels instead

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=luwAMFcc2f8 

Bloody Wednesday

Επαγγελματικό ραντεβού μετά από κουραστική μέρα με μπόνους καταρρακτώδη βροχή.
Καθώς περπατάω προς το σημείο συνάντησης παλεύω να ξετρυπώσω την ομπρέλα μου μέσα από έναν ορυμαγδό αντικειμένων στον πάτο της τσάντας και τελικά την ανασύρω με τα χίλια ζόρια.
Στο δρόμο νιώθω ένα μικρό τσούξιμο στο δεξί παράμεσο, δε δίνω σημασία.
Φτάνω πρώτη στο καφέ και με το που κάθομαι παρατηρώ ότι το δάχτυλό μου αρχίζει να ματώνει μετά από μικρο-πληγή που προφανώς υπέστη λίγο πριν, στην ανασκαφή του εσωτερικού της τσάντας.
Κάνω να βγάλω ένα χαρτομάντιλο και πριν προλάβω να ανοίξω την τσάντα μου, έχει τρέξει τόσο αίμα που το μισό χέρι έχει γίνει σαν του Τζακ του Αντεροβγάλτη εν ώρα φόνου.
Το καλύπτω άρον άρον κι εκείνη τη στιγμή έρχεται ο σερβιτόρος για παραγγελία. Του λέω ότι θα περιμένω το ραντεβού και ζητάω ένα τσιρότο.
Καθώς παλεύω με το χαρτομάντιλο, καταφθάνει το επαγγελματικό ραντεβού. Σηκώνομαι δίνοντας αναγκαστικά το λάθος χέρι για χειραψία και προσπαθώντας να καλύψω το κατακρεουργημένο.
Καθόμαστε, ο σερβιτόρος παίρνει παραγγελία, το χαρομάντιλο έχει γίνει κατακόκκινο, εγώ διακριτικά να προσπαθώ συγχρόνως: να το ξεφορτωθώ, να το αντικαταστήσω με καθαρό, να βγάλω το πανωφόρι μου χωρίς να το λερώσω και να συζητάω χαλαρά με τον άνθρωπο ο οποίος σημειωτέον μέχρι εκείνη τη στιγμή δεν είχε καταλάβει τίποτα.
Σε κάποια φάση έρχεται ο σερβιτόρος και μου δίνει ένα τσιρότο ψελλίζοντας κάτι. Το παίρνω βιαστικά, είναι και το μεγάλο μέγεθος, ωραία, σκέφτομαι, θα την καλύψει τέλεια την κομμένη αρτηρία (αναπόφευκτη σκέψη μετά από τόση αιμορραγία).
Ανακουφισμένη τυλίγω το δάχτυλο όπως όπως, πάω να χαλαρώσω, πιάνω κάτι περίεργο στο βλέμμα του επαγγελματικού ραντεβού, βλέπω ότι κοιτάει το δάχτυλο, κοιτάω κι εγώ το δάχτυλο για να διαπιστώσω ότι το XL τσιρότο είναι: α) μπλε φωσφοριζέ και β) έχει πάνω όλη την παρέα του Μίκυ Μάους από καταβολής Disney.