sy.think/tell

Thursday, 26 January 2012

Why is it always silent? I didn't want to ask you baby, I didn't want you to suffer and everybody is singing

When her hands reached out and poured the tea, it was as if she also poured something into me while I sat there sweating in my cab. It was like she held a string and pulled on it just slightly to open me up. She got in, put a piece of herself inside me, and left again.
Markus Zusak, I Am the Messenger

Tuesday, 24 January 2012

I could write this down I could turn this car around, but I swallow the words and I close my mouth

στο μυαλό μου είναι το πιο αγαπημένο ζευγάρι με τα αστεία τους μετά από χρόνια, όλα τους τα λόγια χωμένα σε μιά αγκαλιά και όλες οι συζητήσεις τους σημαντικές

Two young hearts will meet in the middle and a light will flicker on, where there once was none

I’ve always liked the feeling of traveling light; there is something in me that wants to feel I could leave wherever I am, at any time, without any effort. The idea of being weighed down made me uneasy, as if I lived on the surface of a frozen lake and each new trapping of domestic life - a pot, a chair, a lamp - threatened to be the thing that sent me through the ice. Nicole Krauss, Great House

Sunday, 22 January 2012

Then we can pull it apart and in time you see
 it’s going better than ever

In 1933, renowned author F. Scott Fitzgerald ended a letter to his 11-year-old daughter, Scottie, with a list of things to worry about, not worry about, and simply think about. It read as follows.

Today you were far away and I didn't ask you why, what could I say I was far away

How close am I...

Thursday, 19 January 2012

And time we lost is resting on the stairs, the window out reveals the cooler air and so we go, and so we go

And sometimes when she’s doing a story, I look at her hands, which I know are really old and kind of baggy but they make me think of places too. They’ve got paths that lead where you don’t know, like a map of mountains and rivers of countries you wish you could get to.
Nick Hornby, Speaking with the Angel:
The Department of Nothing by Colin Firth

Wednesday, 18 January 2012

People were looking for their stories again


Inspired in equal measures, by Hurricane Katrina, Buster Keaton, The Wizard of Oz, and a love for books, “Morris Lessmore” is a story of people who devote their lives to books and books who return the favor. The Fantastic Flying Books of Mr. Morris Lessmore is a poignant, humorous allegory about the curative powers of story.
ΦΟΒΕΡΟ!!

You're a lot like me in up to our knees, in over your chest is way too deep

And it occurred to him that there were two parts to being a better person. One part was thinking about other people. The other part was not giving a toss what other people thought.
Mark Haddon, A spot of bother

This all is so unreal can't you show me how you feel? Now come on, come talk to me

All this time he was sitting up in bed and looking at the woman who was lying beside him and holding his hand in her sleep. He felt an ineffable love for her. Her sleep must have been very light at the moment because she opened her eyes and gazed up at him questioningly.
‘What are you looking at?’ she asked. He knew that instead of waking her he should lull her back to sleep, so he tried to come back with an answer that would plant the image of a new dream in her mind.
‘I’m looking at the stars,’ he said.
‘Don’t say you are looking at the stars. You’re looking down.’
 ‘That’s because we’re in an aeroplane. The stars are below us.’
‘Oh, in an aeroplane,’ said Tereza, squeezing his hand even tighter and falling asleep again. And Tomas knew that Tereza was looking out of the round window of an aeroplane flying high above the stars.
Milan Kundera, The unbearable lightness of being (p.233)
 Bon Iver - Come talk to me

Tuesday, 17 January 2012

So soon we're too old to carry, we knew we only had a little while in the middle keep ticking over

I like the stars, it’s the illusion of permanence I think

There was a piano and I sat at the piano and hit the keys and listened to the sound as the people talked. I liked the sound of the keys best up at one end of the piano where there was hardly and sound at all - the sound the keys made was like chips of ice striking against one another.
Charles Bukowski, Ham on Rye

Monday, 16 January 2012

And I've woken up in so many rooms, I'm sorry that I left so soon

οι φίλοι μου γελαστοί στα γενέθλια μου
ο Διονύσης έβγαζε φωτογραφίες εμένα και τον Γιώργο να κάνουμε βλακείες
οικογενειακή φωτογραφία
σπίτι
εγώ και ο φίλος μου ο Κώστας
ο Διονύσης και η Στεφανία την Πρωτοχρονιά
γελοίες φάτσες Βαγγέλης και Γιώργος
ο Κώστας μόλις έβαλε την μπουκιά του στο στόμα
ο παντοτινός μου κολλητός
σπέσιαλ συμπαίκτης
έχουν περάσει μερικές μέρες αλλά αυτές είναι οι πιο αγαπημένες μου φωτογραφίες από τις διακοπές.

Saturday, 14 January 2012

There's magic everywhere look at me standing here on my own again up straight in the sunshine

And I urge you to please notice when you are happy, and exclaim or murmur or think at some point, ‘If this isn’t nice, I don’t know what is.’
A man without a country, Kurt Vonnegut
Από μακριά και από κοντά καμιά φορά όσος καιρός και να περάσει αυτά που νιώθεις είναι το ίδιο δυνατά.

We’re night and day still the same, signs of love waste it all on the young, are we so different

Friday, 13 January 2012

Me, I was holding all of my secrets soft and hid, pages were folded then there was nothing at all

τόσες ιστορίες μαζί. τόσοι άνθρωποι με την δικη τους ιστορία χαμένοι όλοι μαζί στο ίδιο μέρος. το αγόρι με την μεγάλη κιθάρα που γλίστρησε στο μετρό και έσπρωξε τον σκυλάκο που πετάχτηκε από τον ύπνο του. ο κύριος που με είπε 'μις' και χαμογελώντας μου έδειξε το κασκόλ μου που είχα ξεχάσει στο μικρό κάθισμα απέναντι από αυτόν τον σοβαρό με τα μικρά μάτια και την τεράστια τσάντα που κοίταζε συνέχεια το ρολόι του.

Wednesday, 11 January 2012

Tonight you just close your eyes and I just watch you slip away

Θέλω να μ'αγαπάς μόνο εκείνα τα βράδια που δεν έχω κανέναν
όχι για να γίνεις κάποια
αλλά για να γίνεις ο κανένας.

About today - The National

Κομματάρα, λίγο διαφορετική εκτέλεση για το ουόριορ το έργο! κειμενάκι από εδώ

Your guard isn't on, your barriers open I come and I go

Μου αρέσει να σκέφτομαι ότι μετά από κάθε σου μέρα το τελευταίο πράγμα που βλέπεις πριν κοιμηθείς είναι τα αστεράκια στον μικρό σου ουρανό, τα ίδια με αυτά που βλέπω εγώ.

Think you can wait - The National

Tuesday, 10 January 2012

And I called through the air that night a calm sea voiced with a lie

I should like to bury something precious in every place where I’ve been happy and then, when I’m old and ugly and miserable, I could come back and dig it up and remember.
Evelyn Waugh, Brideshead Revisited

Everything is all right, and everybody has to keep doing exactly what he does

Of course, I'm being rude. I'm spoiling the ending, not only of the entire book, but of this particular piece of it. I have given you two events in advance, because I don't have much interest in building mystery. Mystery bores me. It chores me. I know what happens and so do you. It's the machinations that wheel us there that aggravate, perplex, interest, and astound me. There are many things to think of. There is much story.
Markus Zusak, The Book Thief

Those same old songs every single year, we drink we sing and I forget the things that I need to hear


CAUSE WHEN WE FIGHT I LOVE YOU MORE

And people they don't understand, in spaceships they won't understand and me I ain't ever gonna understand

It’s clear to me now that I have been moving toward you and you toward me for a long time. Though neither of us was aware of the other before we met, there was a kind of mindless certainty bumming blithely along beneath our ignorance that ensured we would come together. Like two solitary birds flying the great prairies by celestial reckoning, all of these years and lifetimes we have been moving toward one another.
 The bridges of madison county, Robert James Waller

Thursday, 5 January 2012

She made you decent, and in return you made her so happy

I'll hold your hand when you're feeling mad at me

Τα χεράκια που τρυπώνουν παντού, καθώς οδηγείς, τρώς, κάθεσαι, κοιμάσαι - το χέρι θέλει να σε κρατάει και να σε πειράζει μόνο και μόνο για να νιώθει πιο κοντά σου. Τώρα το χέρι δεν έχει το δικό σου χεράκι να τρυπώσει και στεναχωριέται.

Tuesday, 3 January 2012

Cause you said ours were the lighthouse towers the sun upon that place

Αυτές τις μέρες υπάρχουν 3 αγαπημένα μου τραγούδια που κάθε φορά που τα ακούω μου θυμίζουν εσένα! Το bloodbuzz ohio γιατί το ακούσαμε μαζί στην μικρή μας περιπέτεια και χαμογέλαγες όταν φώναζα νάσιοναααλ γιες και το τραγούδαγα. Το fire γιατί κάθε φορά που το ακούω σε σκέφτομαι να το χορεύεις με τις αστείες κινήσεις σου και αυτή τη γκριμάτσα τη φοβερή. Το standing next to me γιατί ήταν πάντα το τραγούδι μας και το λέμε ο ένας στον άλλο και είναι από αυτά που με το που ακούς τις πρώτες νότες σου έρχονται αναμνήσεις στο μυαλό. Τα λέμε σε λίγο!

Monday, 2 January 2012

Μην το ξανακάνεις αυτό και φύγεις έτσι τα χριστούγεννα

But the wild things cried, “Oh please don’t go - we’ll eat you up - we love you so!” And Max said, “No!” The wild things roared their terrible roars and gnashed their terrible teeth and rolled their terrible eyes and showed their terrible claws but Max stepped into his private boat and waved goodbye.
Maurice Sendak, Where The Wild Things Are

Sunday, 1 January 2012

We have all been living in one year and now all of a sudden it is another

For the last twelve months we have all been living in one year and now all of a sudden it is another. It is extraordinary how this tremendous change takes place in the space of a fraction of a second. As the clock approaches midnight on the thirty-first of December you are still in the old year, but then all at once, one millionth of a second after midnight, you are in the new. I have always found this sudden change from one year to another awfully hard to get used to, and all through the new January that follows I keep writing down the old year instead of the new one on letters and cheques and other bits of paper.
ΚΑΛΗ ΧΡΟΝΙΑ ΚΑΙ ΠΟΛΛΑ ΓΕΛΙΑ