BEST WAY TO CLEAN TILE

His right hand reaching out. Fingers not quite open. Left hand holding handkerchiefs, head down but searching. Like a stray dog running away from a place he has been chased. On his right side an empty bottle, above him chains and lock on a door where he cannot enter to find selter. And a hat for those who are in hurry and want to throw money. He does not quite beg for he does not look at the pedestrians, he does not plead for mercy, nor money. As being ashamed of his position. The Outcast.

They say that begging is a hard job and not all beggars make money. Beggars become organized, they work for other people who take advantage of them, collect their money and they only take a share. These beggars know the rules of how to sell their position. They show off somehow their misery. They know what can attract the attention of a pedestrian, they know that for many a hand reaching is not enough. There are other instruments more effective on this “job”.

Selling a small token gives the opportunity to the consumer – filanthropist to escape his thought that I am throwing away my money. He can then give money. A small child besides a mother also is a helpful tool. Playing an instrument not as a musician should but as someone who does not know how to play but still he has no other choice but to play, can also create a feeling of pity. Others do not need to buy anything to feel the need to give to beggars.

It is as if beggars exist for fulfilling the need for someone to feel superior and understanding, to feel a bit of shame and become a bit shocked. As if there is a need for that. In order to keep a sense of humanity alive. Beggars are a chance to feel human. In order to keep living in a pressing environment that creates beggars. The role of a beggar, in this sense, is similar to that of an artist who becomes the object of art. For the artist – beggar, it is the only way he can survive. For the citizen – consumer, watching a beggar is an instrument to find a deep hidden sense of humanity but also to appreciate his current position.

I spoke to him. He looked at me but did not reply. I asked him if he had shelter, he reached to give me handkerchiefs and escaped my pervasive look. This man was trying to hide. This man was not accustomed to begging.

After the official declaration of financial crisis in Greece, soon enough many streets were filled with beggars. All kinds of beggars. Mothers with their newborn children. Children playing music, disabled people, long term drug addicts, old ladies. But also people who clean your car windshield, or help you park your car. As if the crisis opened the doors of a new world which up to that point only periodically made evident its existence. New people add up to this new world every day. Their population seems to grow as time passes.

All this happened quite fast. As if there was already a plan in action and there were other people who knew that there might be a chance to make money from the occasion. Now, it is evident that there are organized systems of beggar trafficking. In these times of crisis, citizens seem to be more understanding and even with less money on their pockets, they are more willing to give. This is still capitalism.

The Outcast is no longer on the street I used to find him. Instead, they covered the deserted building with a huge “cloth”. This cloth was an advertisement of a healthy man, strong, confident and selfish – a survivor - entering a big store to buy an expensive watch. A wall to hide a deserted building and a deserted man. A cloth wall to protect a “healthy” society from the reality that is more and more evident. To “stop” an intrusion that seems inevitable.

Just like the wall that the greek government decided to built on the frontiers of Evros region to stop refugees from entering the country. A society that does not find solutions but hides behind false walls. An endangered existence. That chooses to become cannibalistic to its people instead of changing. We just keep on living our lives and beggars are useful as long as they help us do so. This, we call tolerant: As long as.

If not, we built walls. Walls that if we decide, we could - just with the move of one right hand - make them fall down. And we hide. Just like the outcast who was ashamed. His right hand reaching, his fingers not quite open. Stray dogs. Scared. Not his choice to beg.

This is a story of the reality of a man who since that moment I have not seen him anywhere on the streets again.. A man who seemed like an outcast even from the society of beggars. This is a story about the collective reality in Greece. My reality also. Stray dogs and paper walls. Walls fall.

one of those fucking awful black days when nothing is pleasing and everything that happens is an excuse for anger
an outlet for emotions stockpiled
an arsenal
an armor
these are the days when I hate the world
hate the rich
hate the happy
hate the complacent
the tv watchers, beer drinkers, the satisfied ones
because I know I can be all those little hateful things and then I hate myself for realizing that
there is no preventative, directive, or safe approach for living
we each know our own faith
we know from our youth how to be treated and how we'll be received and how we shall end
these things don't change
you can change your clothes, change your hairstyle, your friends, cities, continents
but sooner or later your old self will always catch up
always it waits in the wings

Ideas swirl but don't stick.
They appear but then run off like rain on the windshield.

one of those rainy day car rides
my head imploded
the atmosphere in this car a mirror of my skull
wet, damp, windows dripping and misted with cold
walls of gray
nothing good on the radio
not a thought in my head

be safe
I know a place we can go where you'll fall in love so hard that you'll wish you were dead

let's take life and slow it down incredibly slow
frame by frame
like two minutes that take ten years to live out
yeah, let's do that

telephone poles like praying mantis against the sky
metal arms outstretched
so much land traveled, so little sense made of it
it doesn't mean a thing all this land laying out behind us
I'd like to take off into these woods and get good and lost for a while
I'm disgusted with petty concerns - parking tickets, breakfast specials
does someone just have to carry this weight?
abstract topography
methane covenant
linear gospel
Ashville saleslady
stagian emmisary
torturous lice
mad Elizabeth

(keep a better peoples)

the light within me shines like a diamond mine
like an unarmed walrus
like a dead man face down on the highway
like a snake eating its own tail
a steam turbine
frog pond
too-full closet burst open in disarray
soap bubbles in the sun
hospital deathbed
red convertible
shopping list
blow job
death's head
devils dancing
bleached white buildings
memory movements
the movie unpeeling, unreeling, about to begin

I've seen your hallway
you're a dark hallway
I hear your stairs creak
I can fix my mind on your yes and your no
I'll feel your face today in the sparkling canal
all red, yellow, blue-green brilliance and silver Dutch reflection
racing thoughts
racing thoughts all too real
you're moving so fast now I can't hold your image
this image I have of your face by the window
me standing beside you
arm on your shoulder
a catalog of images, flashing glimpses
then dawn again
untethered to this post you've sunk in me
every clear afternoon now I'll think of you up in the air
twisting your heel and your knees up around me
my face in your hair
you scream so well
your smile so loud
still rings in my ears

inhibition
distant tied-up longing
clean my teeth
stay the course
hold the wheel
steer on to freedom
open all the boxes
open all the boxes
open all the boxes
open all the boxes

Times Square mid-day
newspaper buildings
news headlines going around
we watch as they go and hope for some good ones
Those tree shadows in the park they're all whistling chasing leaves.
Around six pm shadows across the cobblestones
girl in front of bathroom mirror
she's slow and careful
paints her face green, mask-like
like Matisse
Portrait with Green Stripe
long shot through apartment window
a monologue on top but no girl in shot

the light within me shines like a diamond mine
like an unarmed walrus
like a dead man face down on the highway
like a snake eating its own tail
a steam turbine
frog pond
too-full closet burst open in disarray
soap bubbles in the sun
hospital deathbed
red convertible
shopping list
blow job
death's head
devils dancing
bleached white buildings
memory movements
the movie unreeling, about to begin


That was great
Yeah? Mine were alright. Wasn't my best one but who cares?
That's the spirit...

<< Arhiva >>