creative writing & photography

Empty House

20180916_171305The survival
of the fittest,
the richest,
the cruelest.

You’ve been
so you wish
to traumatize
you meet. It

nor takes
away from
how terrible
it is. The

abyss and I
in love. I stare
into the abyss,
the abyss
into me,
we share
a strand of spaghetti,
we share a bottle of wine,
my one

the abyss

and I, and I
end up
the whole bottle.

Because when
I kiss the abyss
the abyss
kisses me.

It is awful.
It is hopeless.
It is always losing.
Never winning.
Always despair.
Pulling out your hair.
Biting your nails.
Plucking your eye-lashes. But

not always.
Not all the time.
And in the moments
when you catch up with life
are marked by your euphoria
and you return
from your absentia
into a presence
from one island
to another island
across the world
and back. Remember

you survived being
the stranger,
by Albert Camus,
and standing before
a painting, watching
manipulated colors
lift living figures
off a flat surface.

You were expanded
by the city of skyscrapers
but flattened
by the two millenia
year old city,
founded by the Romans,
Londinios, the bold one,
you became one too.
Now you are back
in Cyprus
you are still
the bold one
but you are playing
it timid,
It’s all
a cover
for a
in an



20180301_121214You say
how could
I be happy

and joyful
and not disheartened,
alive, in such a raging age?

I live in a whole house
but I feel I live in a tiny cage,
or rather something essential

is caged in me, a
swan or an angel
twisting in its own

boxed in light
to escape and to migrate
across worlds

full of cities
in turn full of buildings
and rivers and bridges:

to go
to the overflowing silky willow
of buffalo where words grow

and human stories bloom
and heaven’s angel or water’s
swan gathers the stories

and brings them back to you,
dazzled, honored, grateful,
you live for this fulfilling – for you –

story, this web suspended and
displayed in the water-
bowl of present moment.

This time the story,
it was about
a man

who was lost
and then
he was found.

Everything he then
planted yielded
sweetness, nectar


the life of him
and the breath of him,
finally, and it all returned


This was relief,
from pressure,
this was presence,

and absence,
and invisibility,

the hallmark
of a person
spiritually free:

in these liberated periods of time,
where secrets tumble out
and no longer burden you

and you feel lighter
than feathers.

let yourself go,
dance the

redeemed dance,

the dance of the redeemed,
limelight divine casts now upon you,
loved, devotedly, loved:

This is symmetry.
This, the great mirror.
This, your amplification

and your completion,
your new beginning,
temporarily perfected.

in return,
forever, returning.

Make it new, more true

20180411_125538The ghosts have
left your hands. Bloodless are
now your tears.

Your current favorite fruit
is pears, and you eat them
by the dozen, pealing them

with a pealer. Your hands release
your ghosts. Mellifluous are
your words. You say vocabulary

has nothing  to do with it, but
you master words so you
can master dance across them

and experience expansion, and open
the box, and release the marinas, the sea-shores,
and the fishermen’s boats. The lies, the truths,

the sirens, the sailors,
the monohorns and the siren songs,
the seven seas, the history of the world,
across it: you learn words

so you can express yourself
and not feel so frustrated
as what is happening to you
is so alien, as if it is happening

to somebody else.
You are new,
somehow you knew
this was coming, but when

and all the waiting,
surrendering to it.
All worth it.

A Heart & Infinite Space


in the Deus ex

soul upon


within the body
and star-lit

it prospers
it is in a field in which it prospers
such gold
a field

where the

a great
-struck landscape

On which
all the animals
are dying
and many of the


upon a hill
golden clusters
of halos
There is someone
praying for you

For every heathen
he drag us
to hell
with him:

in a forest
there is someone
wishing the best
for you

Even though
for every agnostic
or atheist
who isn’t one hundred
per cent sure
with which argument
to start anymore

there are
at the bottom
of a mountain
from which
a figure you

loves you
and it is
because you
are loved

the miracle of
and you are
it occurs
this breath

is the only one
that breathes
to a Heart
I mean behind
the sky
the landscape
holding it
all up:

The age of the earth

is 4.543 billion years old
Which is why
we pay our respects
we assume our role
we bow down with awe
on this earth
with humility
and responsibility
and with care
but mostly with gratitude
for her
not just her
but every her
Every female
Every woman
you kept in chains
in kitchens
Every mother
you did not spare
Every girl you
took it upon you, you star
to rape:
The age of the earth
is 4.543 billion years old
The first person on earth
was a woman
called Eve
who only wanted
to hold you
and to kiss you
and let you
make love
to her:
Humility began
its human caress
across the centuries
because Eve
fell in love
with Adam.
That’s the
story of
and all women.
Even the ones
who never find
Adam: Humanity
fell from grace
when Adam
fell in love
with Eve
yes, but
the fall
was his fault
not hers.

Trees encroach cities.
Civilizations surrounded by forests.
We think we are autonomous and are acting out of free will.
But we are acting out of the will of the trees
earth’s exclamation marks

Fall, falling, fallen

20180909_175405I want to fall in love again,
I don’t want to be this miserable
irreparable heart beating
in a scarecrow chest,
I want love to pull me
like a lost asteroid
back into its cluster. Disheartened, I fell,
fell from the flames, fell
from the firmaments,
fell from the mountains,
fell back to earth, and how
I got up, and when I got up,
there was a semblance of a
beginning again, which was
a true beginning. You were next
to me, fallen too, I reached out
my hand to grab you,
to help you up,
and I had never seen eyes
so green, as green
as the turtles,
as green as the photosynthesis
of algae, as green as
the green sea. I want to make
love to you
and look at your face,
not your back,
don’t turn away from me,
for the love of sharks.
You bite your bottom lip
and take bites out of me.
I am complete
by virtue of incompleteness
and by being trapped in you
I am paradoxically, entirely free.
Trust me? These are words,
let them do what they have to do,
and be what they have to be.
Take a step forward,
half a step back,
and watch the world split open
and the universe break its back.

Saint Sartre

FriendWe sat so close together
our thighs touched.
I never felt so present
and absent all at once.

If I accepted the Nobel
Prize it would impact
my writing
and drive a wedge

between myself
and my readers
said Jean-Paul Sartre
when he declined

the Nobel Prize
in 1964.
He is from the future
but he is also from the past

I love this surreptitious, infiltrating feeling
I hope it lasts.


20180628_2000051318959121.jpgLet us go down
again into the dark
places when darkness
turns into light

let us go down again
into the endless night
with no right to do so

to speak of
in fact it is advised against
let us go deeper
than before

and return with more treasure
than before
more wisdom
to speak of.


20180402_122247You seem to know the flow
to and fro

the sublimity
in motion

the devotion
to a source

the shimmer
and the extinguishing

the need to rest
the need to return

to one’s body,
and artist’s body. To hell,

to purgatory,
to earth, to heaven,

all one despair, all one
existential angst. But art is the sudden act

the drop-kick into consciousness
shattering it like glass

that has set
to be captured in a capitalist half way house.


As artists
we both
to bleed
at the altar
of art
and to survive
the bleeding
so give us
all of your money
and we will shred your art
and add to its value