Heart of Darkness

"It is impossible to convey the life-sensation of any given epoch of one's existence — that which makes its truth, its meaning — its subtle and penetrating essence. It is impossible. We live, as we dream — alone. . . ."




Our moments are our own.

Hello Summer

It's been a while. Time to get back on the terrace, embrace the mid-20s temperatures (AKA spring weather in Cyprus terms), play lighter music, wear lighter clothes, carry a lighter soul.

The first festival of the season is already over, and despite the ridiculous clashes and the fact that the person taking care of set times should be jailed, it was pretty good. I couldn't miss Dixon and Âme for the world. Jon Hopkins and Todd Terje, I'll catch you in your full glory some other time.

Now, it's time to recuperate. Nine Inch Nails, followed by five crazy days and nights in Berlin, followed by Field Day and its after-party (despite the blurry mind, I'm sure Kristian played an almost identical set to their b2b a few hours earlier). No regrets, but this body needs some rest, and I think it's time to head to back the studio/my bedroom to produce some party music myself.

Change is on its way and it feels like the possibilities are back, and they're a lot more than ever before.

There will be time

A rainy Thursday in London. Yesterday seems so long ago. Radiohead and T.S.Eliot provide the mood, and comfort, for the day.




And indeed there will be time 
To wonder, "Do I dare?" and, "Do I dare?" 
Time to turn back and descend the stair, 
With a bald spot in the middle of my hair—                              
[They will say: "How his hair is growing thin!"] 
My morning coat, my collar mounting firmly to the chin, 
My necktie rich and modest, but asserted by a simple pin— 
[They will say: "But how his arms and legs are thin!"] 
Do I dare 
Disturb the universe? 
In a minute there is time 
For decisions and revisions which a minute will reverse. 


http://people.virginia.edu/~sfr/enam312/prufrock.html

After the midnight mark on a Sunday

my thoughts 

are creatures of the night.

unexpected visitors, hidden in feathers 

and down.

the mind begins to wander

as the body rests,

the present disappears

while the future manifests.

in thoughts, in dreams,

reality permeated by

a sudden amalgamation of moments

that have yet to occur.

as much as you may battle with the wave,
you can never defeat it.

five nights later and here you are.

but not really.

Got that Monday feeling on a Friday

“My thought is me: that's why I can't stop. I exist because I think… and I can't stop myself from thinking. At this very moment - it's frightful - if I exist, it is because I am horrified at existing. I am the one who pulls myself from the nothingness to which I aspire.” ― Jean-Paul Sartre, Nausea



I have nothing else to add. I shall retract back into my thoughts now.

REM

A dream
(within a dream)
Sleeping in consciousness
Prolonging the manifestations of the mind
and body; this is where happiness lies
No - no - it should not end
It is far too soon
to be awake -
Too late
.

Summer in the city

There's something quite magical about summertime in big cities. Everything and everyone transforms. People are happier. The grass looks greener. Ugly residential blocks of concrete suddenly glisten with pride.

And suddenly, the days are longer, the nights are shorter, but you don't need the nights anyway because you remember how good it feels being in the sun. Suddenly, you realise that maybe you already have what you need. A terrace, a paddling pool, a group of friends, music and drinks. Dialogue-free scenes from a Sofia Coppola movie, with nostalgia quietly at work.

Time slows down, it's not your enemy anymore.

Then Monday comes. Every Monday feels like a small death. Every weekend that passes, a mini-lifetime that went by in flash. How could you have spent it differently? Could you have done more? Did you waste it doing nothing, or did you make the most out of it?

Snapping out of holiday mode, you make your way to work only to sit indoors and dream about being in the sunshine again. But it's not a bad feeling, because you know this time, summer's here to stay.

For now.

On honesty to ourselves and to others

How honest are we?

Do we write things because we want someone to read them? Why post something online if you want to keep it personal? How private can you be in the world of facebook, twitter, instagram and smartphones?

Constantly connected, our lives are always on display to people we have merely brushed shoulders with on dimly lit Saturday night.

Things we have to admit to ourselves, things we have to admit to others. In that order? Not necessarily.

Writing in a diary or a blog is like an exercise in honesty. The more the readers, the more difficult honesty becomes. Honesty is perceived as a weakness, when it can really be a weapon. A game-changer. The most important and judgemental reader should, after all, be ourselves.

FML

just when you think you're done with it
BOOM
it comes back to find you
it's not done with you
yet