The big cat strikes again.. Mouses continue their fuckin "life"..

Προσέξτε παρακαλώ την φωτογραφία:

Ένας αν μη τι άλλο ευλόγως εξαγριωμένος, ενεργός Πολίτης, εισβάλλει στο θεωρείο, της κατά τα 2/3 μουνουχισμένης βουλής, των ιδιοτελών τεράτων και φωνάζει ενάντια στα νεκρόφιλα λαοκτόνα μέτρα..

Από κάτω την ώρα που συλλαμβάνεται από μπράβους του βουλιμικού παρακράτους, κάποια (4) ποντίκια, όσα τουλάχιστον μπορούνε να ειδωθούνε από την φωτογραφία, κοιτάνε στο υπερπέραν, φωλιασμένοι από την εγωτική, εγωμανιακή, εγωπαθή, πρέζα του γαμημένου ΕΓΩ Τους..

Ο ένας μπορεί πολλά..

Φαντάσου όμως και τα μισά έστω από τα ποντίκια να καταλαβαίνανε το στοιχειώδες..

Ότι ο νεκρός ακόμα και αν κλινικά δεν έχει ακόμα πεθάνει, συνεχιζομένου του ματαίου αβίωτου βίου του, δεν έχει να χάσει τίποτα, παρά ΜΟΝΟΝ την ψυχή του..

Richard Hawley, Serious..

Thank God for songs like this...It makes even the darkest day a little brighter..! Just brilliant.. What a Voice (mix J. Cash en Elvis), drums, bass, vid all en all..!! God bless U all..

Lyrics to Serious :

When you are in love
Ah, you feel the stars above
There’s no devil in your eyes
There’s no darkness in disguise

But when you are in love
A kiss can turn your heart to stone
Hearts breaking in the night
There's a devil in her eyes

Oh it’s serious, so serious
A kiss that caught the wind made you delirious
Oh it’s serious, so serious
Take her in your arms don’t be afraid
Never be afraid

When you are in love
Ah, the stars burn bright above
There’s a kindness in your eyes
There’s no darkness in disguise

Oh but when you are in love
Oh your heart it turns to stone
Hearts breaking in the night

There's a devil in her eyes

Oh it’s serious, so serious

A kiss that caught the wind made you delirious
Oh it’s serious, so serious
Take her in your arms don’t be afraid
Never be afraid

Oh it’s serious, so serious
A kiss that caught the wind made you delirious
Oh it’s serious, so serious
So take her in your arms don’t be afraid
Never be afraid

Ανδρέας Εμπειρίκος - Andreas Empeirikos, Καταπληκτικό Ντοκουμέντο..

http://video.google.com/videoplay?docid=4010753624085571117

Ηey.. Ηοw's goin?

 I just found an excellent video about Andreas Empeirikos, the Poet - Author of "Megalos Anatolikos"
A must see documentary, with incredible material, mostly owned from his son Leonidas Empeirikos..

 I found it in the Ert/archives @ Paraskhnio.. Plz press the ABOVEmentioned link.. 

 Σας εσωκλείω ένα απίστευτο ντοκουμέντο από την εκπομπή "Παρασκήνιο" για τον "Μέγα" Ανδρέα Εμπειρίκο..  

Παρακαλώ πατήστε με το μαλακό- αφού βγάλετε τας σαγονάρας-  στην παραπάνω παραπομπή ..

American Purgatorio, John Haskel, TO HAVE NO NOTHIN .. My beloved roadmovingtripbook ever as Christmas gift suggestion..

"Finally, he is reduced to begging and living on the beach.."..

"I'm from Chicago originally. I went to New York, married a girl named Anne, and was in the middle of living happily ever after when something happened." 

So begins John Haskell's mesmerizing first novel, American Purgatorio, the story of a happily married man who discovers, as he walks out of a convenience store, that his life has suddenly vanished. 

In cool, precise prose, written as both a detective story and a meditation on the seven deadly sins, Haskell tells a story that is by turns tragic and comic, compassionate and gripping. From the brownstones of New York City to the sandy beaches of Southern California, American Purgatorio follows the journey of a man whose object of desire is both heartbreaking and ephemeral. It confirms John Haskell's reputation as one of our most intriguing new writers, "one of those rare authors who makes language seem limitless in its possibilities" (Susan Reynolds, Los Angeles Times).

My beloved road moving trip book of John Haskel.. Heres a nice introduction from theTom Conoboy's writing blog: 
"..A man goes into a filling station to buy refreshments and when he returns outside his wife and his car have disappeared. This is also the start of George Sluizer’s brilliant 1988 Dutch movie, The Vanishing (and also his witless 1993 Hollywood remake). But there the similarities end. American Purgatorio is a curiosity indeed, like Percival Everett’s American Desert rewritten by Robert M. Pirsig.


This is a philosophical novel of ideas, a meditation on existence and love and hope and despair. It has a lot of humour along the way but, ultimately, this is a serious piece of fiction. 

It is clear early on that all is not as it seems. There is an ethereality about everything that happens to the man, Jack, in the immediate aftermath of his wife's disappeance. Everything seems out of sync. As he stares out of his window the glass appears to become fluid; there is a lag in the steering of his car so that it doesn’t corner until moments after he has turned the wheel; a kid working in a gas station supplies him with power steering fluid despite apparently not having heard Jack ask for it because he was wearing headphones. The world is a strange place, and Jack feels increasingly disconnected from it. 

He leaves his home behind and sets off in his car to find his wife. He has discovered a map in her study with a number of places – Lexington, Kentucky, Boulder, Colorado, San Diego, circled on it and highways marked. With only these clues he sets off in pursuit of his wife, having convinced himself that, because he wants to find her, he will find her. The novel becomes a roadtrip as he traverses America, like Phaedrus on his chautauqua in Zen and the Art of Motorcyle Maintenance, but all the while his experiences and encounters grow increasingly strange. The America he is finding, one feels, is not precisely the America that we know. Each of the chapter headings is taken from Dante’s Seven Deadly Sins, and the people he meets, the moments that elapse, grow ever more troublesome. He feels an overwhelming sense of failure, caused by a ‘disconnect betwen the world [he] wanted and the world as it was.’ He descends deeper into an America that becomes increasingly like its own mythologised past and as he does so he begins to slough off his possessions, giving away his tapes, his books, his mandolin, finally even his car.

In turn, the strange characters he encounters seem to be trying to draw him out of himself – the enigmatic Linda who appears at the start and at the end of his adventures, a couple of hippies with whom he has a sexual encounter, some native Americans who rescue him when his car breaks down, a priapic car driver who offers him a lift, a ‘snowy-haired girl’ who would have been very comfortable in a Haruki Murakami novel – but as Jack’s journey towards purgatory progresses he seems to become increasingly insubstantial. Finally, he is reduced to begging and living on the beach. The dreams he has had for his life have grown ‘smaller and smaller, shrinking and cracking’. The point of his life, he acknowledges, was to be loved, but by now ‘it was enough to simply exist.’ And one begins to suspect that even that basic urge may finally be beyond him, although as he approaches his nadir he does exclaim ‘Wanting life is life, and I’m not quite ready to give it up.’ 

Unbelievable, Christmas Singers Duo, Bing Crosby & David Bowie - The Little Drummer Boy / Peace On Earth

My favorite Christmas song. Bing passed away less then a month after this was filmed, but what a wonderful gift he left us with. RIP Bing..


At last but not least a perfect live radio with 24 hours Christmas songs, a must for these Big hours, the most beautifull days of year..


http://www.sky.fm/play/christmas Plz put your foot easy on, without walkin boots..!!

Merry Christmass to All en remember plz :


Young, old, 2012, just words..

Fall in LOVE with your future..!

Get a life, live your life, NOW..!!

The Thomas Pynchon's book "Inherident Vice".. California of surfers and surf bunnies, bikers and biker chicks, hippies, freaks..

I am readin now -  with a delay of a couple of years - the above mentioned Book of T. Pyncon.. It arrived last week from Amazon.uk with my Olympus VR 320 new camera.. I won't summarise the plot. Other people have done that superbly. What I'll offer instead, is my general, uninformed, unexpert take on the book. As someone who's read a reasonable amount of Pynchon, but who is - by no means - a Pynchon fanatic.. 

I liked the critic of NY Times from MICHIKO KAKUTANI Aug, 3 2009 Review with title Another Doorway to the Paranoid Pynchon Dimension.. "..Thomas Pynchon’s “Inherent Vice” is a big, clunky time machine of a novel that transports us back to the early 1970s, back to a California of surfers and surf bunnies, bikers and biker chicks, hippies, freaks and righteous potheads. It was a time when people lived for Acapulco gold and Panama red and lived on pizza and Hostess Twinkies, a time when girls wore their hair long and their skirts short, guys wore paisley and velour and suede, and people were constantly monitoring their paranoia levels and worrying about narcs and cops and the feds.. "“Inherent Vice” is a simple shaggy-dog detective story that pits likable dopers against the Los Angeles Police Department and its “countersubversive” agents, a novel in which paranoia is less a political or metaphysical state than a byproduct of smoking too much weed. Doc’s cases lead him to a Las Vegas casino, a rock ’n’ roll band’s Los Angeles digs, a tacky massage parlor, an Asian-theme club in San Pedro, an abandoned utopian village in the desert, a New Age retreat near Ojai and back and forth across the Los Angeles freeways, giving the reader a tour of the city in its post-Manson, paranoiac phase. Mr. Pynchon does a vivid, surprisingly naturalistic job of delineating the city around 1970 — the year the Lakers lost to the Knicks in Game 7 — capturing the laid-back, slightly seedy aura of a metropolis that was still a magnet for drifters, dreamers and dopers, and not yet in thrall to blockbuster movies and multiplexes and Rodeo Drive money. The characters in this novel, however, are decidedly less three-dimensional. With the exception of Doc, who has a vague, poignant charm, they bear less of a resemblance to the fully human heroes of “Mason & Dixon” than to the flimsy paper dolls who populated much of his earlier fiction: collections of funny Pynchonian names, bizarre tics, weird occupations and weirder sexual predilections. Many seem to exist for no reason other than that Mr. Pynchon dreamed them up and inserted them into the story, to fill up space or to act as vague red herrings in Doc’s quest to find Shasta and ensure her safety..."

I like Pynchon. A lot. I love the depth and complexity of his writing. I love the feeling of ploughing through a deep, rich, fertile text absolutely jam-packed with Significance. Replete with allusions, half-allusions, hintings, suggestions... Comments that you'd need to go 400 pages back, in order to recall the full significance of the full in-text meaning... without beginning to consider what they might otherwise mean in a broader, deeper, fuller context... 

I love the fact that I've given up on most Pynchon books at least once. But have always been drawn back to them. Wanting to read them, understand them, approach them, immerse myself in them... to understand at least some of their meaning. With the hope that a second, third, fourth reading will uncover another layer, and another layer, and another layer... I have started Gravity's Rainbow 9 times, and got to the end on three. That isn't because it's a bad book; it's because of the layers of flowing, suggesting, rhythmic density have lost me sometimes... 

In Inherent Vice, all of that is gone. All of it. What's left reads - to me - like a juvenalia fest. Strip out all the effort, depth, complexity and difficulty from a Pynchon novel, and what have you got left...? 



But I keep on getting this feeling of 'why am I bothering?' 

But... as someone who wants to read Pynchon because he writes in a different way... to be lost, amazed, bewildered, amused, perplexed, delighted, confounded, confused... this just is not it. Not by a long stretch..

@ the end here's the backpage plot summarize story :

"It’s been awhile since Doc Sportello has seen his ex-girlfriend. Suddenly out of nowhere she shows up with a story about a plot to kidnap a billionaire land developer whom she just happens to be in love with. Easy for her to say. It’s the tail end of the psychedelic sixties in L.A., and Doc knows that “love” is another of those words going around at the moment, like “trip” or “groovy,” except that this one usually leads to trouble. Despite which he soon finds himself drawn into a bizarre tangle of motives and passions whose cast of characters includes surfers, hustlers, dopers and rockers, a murderous loan shark, a tenor sax player working undercover, an ex-con with a swastika tattoo and a fondness for Ethel Merman, and a mysterious entity known as the Golden Fang, which may only be a tax dodge set up by some dentists.."..!!

"National Geographic" Mag, Photo Contest 2011 / Santorini Greece entries

Some unbelievable recent entries Santorini Greece, photos from the annual "National Geographic" Mag, Photo Contest 2011..