The King of Dust

I, the small lamb of God
forgotten in the South, born elsewhere
I know Troy will always be miles away
and beautiful Helen will now be old
I come out into the street sworn to enter
in Sun’s palaces, to be able to speak
the song of the goat with a murderous voice
and to cry afterwards, to disappear in silence

The King of Dust

Years will go by, the wheel will turn
everything will be like it began, everything will be different
I’ll be looking for you in the roads that you roamed but you
will have become a shadow, everything will have been lost
On one night, the Moon will shine crazy
your shadow will spread onto a narrow road
the travels, the friends, the hugs, the kisses
in a world I will enter far away, far away

The King of Dust

From the Year of the Dragon years have gone by
you might not remember anything
but the wheel of life turns eternally
and once the snow melts
you’ll come find me

The King of Dust

Ksylina Spathia - O Vasilias tis Skonis
(Wooden Swords - The King of Dust)

No last orders

Inside my heart, or maybe it's inside my brain, there is a big room. Come on in, take a look around, see if there's anything you like.
It's a big room, with wood on the walls, with big french windows and a view that's completely irrelevant; for what it's worth, it's a sea view, from high up on a cliff, looking out into the ocean. There's a big fireplace in the room, and some old photos up on the walls. All of the photos are of my friends of old, of people I came close to, if only for a while. The room is for my friends. There's a nice armchair for every one of them, worn out but still comfortable. There are sofas and pool tables, there's a bar in one corner with all the drinks we might ever need, there's a phone to order something to eat. There's cheap ashtrays on low tables, there's a deck of cards, there's a backgammon board with heavy chipped counters, there's an old CD player with only one speaker.
There's dust everywhere, and some of the chairs are now as if of marble with the dust of years masking their true colours. The room no longer looks inviting, but I'm still sitting there, saying hello to those that come in and go out. Chairs come in, but they don't go out. Even if the people are gone, there's always a chair left behind for them, there's still a photo of them on the wall. And their favourite drink is still available in the bar. And there's no last orders.

Thinking...

For some reason, I just can't seem to produce something positive/worth reading in this blog anymore. My negative, depressed side seems to come out when writing in English. And although this is very interesting in psychological terms, as it probably points towards the general frame of being in the UK as the reason for my bad moods, that is not the point.

The point is, I'm a bit bored of this blog. I can't think of anything interesting to write in it. I've even thought about turning it into a photoblog, but somehow... not. (Samuel Jackson becomes Shaft as I'm writing this, how bizarre. Here I am, talking about the need to re-invent this blog, and an actor puts up a mean, exciting look on the TV).

Why don't I just shut it down? Well, besdides the millions of loyal fans that will be disapointed, I still feel the need to write in it, as I'm doing now. Even if I have nothing to write about, I still feel the need to write about having nothing to write about. Perhaps this blog will have a place one day on a research piece about the art of writing for prolonged periods of time without actually writing anything.


But hey, not all is lost. As I found out today, even shit can look nice.

How about that... Well, I think so.

Surreal

There is a Nicholas Cage film in which he doesn't actually ruin the movie just by being in it (has happened, in The Family Man); he's actually really good in it.

There are palm trees outside my department in Scotland, and they last throughout the winter.

Flying across different climates. You get in a plane and it's freezing cold, you get off it an hour later and it's boiling.

Arguing with people close to you. It just doesn't seem real.