sy.think/tell

Sunday, 30 October 2011

Keep your head up, keep your heart strong, keep your mind set, keep your hair long

με τους φιλαράκους μου Βενετία και Κάμυ!

Thursday, 27 October 2011

Always quiet, always quiet now and always silent, always silent now

In other words, she was pounding on the gate of his poetic memory. But the gate was shut. There was no room for her in his poetic memory. Love begins with a metaphor. Which is to say, love begins at the point when a woman enters her first word into our poetic memory.
Milan Kundera, The unbearable lightness of being (p.203)

Wednesday, 26 October 2011

It's that subtle way that you throw me down when I am inches above the dust on the ground


πάρα πολύ καλοί και γλυκούληδες!

Tuesday, 25 October 2011

I want to be a lost poem in a stranger's coat pocket

Αυτός που απ’ έξω κοιτάζει μέσα σ’ ένα ανοιχτό παράθυρο δεν βλέπει ποτέ τόσα πράγματα όσα εκείνος που κοιτάζει ένα παράθυρο κλειστό. Δεν υπάρχει αντικείμενο πιο βαθύ, πιο μυστηριώδες, πιο γόνιμο, πιο σκοτεινό, πιο εκθαμβωτικό από ένα παράθυρο που το φωτίζει ένα κερί. Αυτό που μπορούμε να δούμε στο φως του ήλιου είναι πάντα λιγότερο ενδιαφέρον απ’ αυτό που συμβαίνει πίσω από ένα τζάμι. Μέσα σ’ αυτήν την μαύρη ή φωτεινή τρύπα ζεί η ζωή, ονειρεύεται η ζωή, υποφέρει η ζωή.
Σαρλ Μπωντλαίρ (απόσπασμα από: ΤΑ ΠΑΡΑΘΥΡΑ)

Sunday, 23 October 2011

We went to the movies, we went dancing, we went shopping, we laughed, you cried, we swam, we smoked, we shaved, you screamed; sometimes for no reason, or for a reason


little apartment on the rue du Faubourg-Saint-Denis..
ένα από τα πιο αγαπημένα μου κομμάτια σε ταινία!

Thursday, 13 October 2011

How would you know, when everything around you is changing like the weather?

What about little microphones? What if everyone swallowed them, and they played the sounds of our hearts through little speakers, which could be in the pouches of our overalls? When you skateboarded down the street at night you could hear everyone's heartbeat, and they could hear yours, sort of like sonar. One weird thing is, I wonder if everyone's hearts would start to beat at the same time, like how women who live together have their menstrual periods at the same time, which I know about, but don't really want to know about. That would be so weird, except that the place in the hospital where babies are born would sound like a crystal chandelier in a houseboat, because the babies wouldn't have had time to match up their heartbeats yet. And at the finish line at the end of the New York City Marathon it would sound like war. Jonathan Safran Foer, Extremely Loud And Incredibly Close

Friday, 7 October 2011

There goes the sun oceans away and leaves the day for someone else

Ah, well, then you’ve never stood on a beach as the waves came crashing in, the water stretching out from you until it’s beyond sight, moving and blue and alive and so much bigger than even the black beyond seems because the ocean hides what it contains.
The ask and the answer, Patrick Ness

Thursday, 6 October 2011

Looking out at this happiness I searched for between the sheets

I'd do the stars with you, anytime

Did you say the stars were worlds, Tess?”
“Yes.”
“All like ours?”
“I don’t know, but I think so. They sometimes seem to be like the apples on our stubbard-tree. Most of them splendid and sound - a few blighted.”
“Which do we live on - a splendid one or a blighted one?”
“A blighted one."
Tess of the D'Urbervilles, Thomas Hardy

Here, Air - John Frusciante

Sunday, 2 October 2011

Burglary and fireworks the skies they were alighting

He is a friend of my mind. The pieces I am, he gathers them and gives them back to me in all the right order.

Saturday, 1 October 2011

They wouldn’t wanna watch another uninnocent elegant fall into the unmagnificent lives of adults

What they failed to teach you at school was that the whole business of being human just got messier and more complicated as you got older. You could tell the truth, be polite, take everyone’s feelings into consideration and still have to deal with other people’s shit.
At nine or ninety.
A Spot of Bother, Mark Haddon

Take all your reasons and take them away to the middle of nowhere, and on your way home

There is something about words. In expert hands, manipulated deftly, they take you prisoner. Wind themselves around your limbs like spider silk, and when you are so enthralled you cannot move, they pierce your skin, enter your blood, numb your thoughts. Inside you they work their magic.
The Thirteenth Tale, Diane Setterfieldd

They all run together and never make sense but that's how we like it, and that's all we want

“Once a little boy sent me a charming card with a little drawing on it. I loved it. I answer all my children’s letters — sometimes very hastily — but this one I lingered over. I sent him a card and I drew a picture of a Wild Thing on it. I wrote, “Dear Jim: I loved your card.” Then I got a letter back from his mother and she said, “Jim loved your card so much he ate it.” That to me was one of the highest compliments I’ve ever received. He didn’t care that it was an original Maurice Sendak drawing or anything. He saw it, he loved it, he ate it.”
Maurice Sendak