I close my eyes
and there you are
I can smell you
I can hear you
I can sense your touch
on my skin
there isn´t a moment
without you

yet you´re not here
with me
you are somewhere else
with someone else
another life
parallel to mine
I don´t mind
I know someone will love me the exact amount I should be loved
but in my minds eye
I wish it was you
I´m sorry
its not

never was

you draw me in

you´ve shown me things

I never thought I´d see

or feel

but baby its not us

it never was

the wear and tear

it got to us

it bit into us

it made us

into that thing

we never wanted to be

and I think 

its time we realized

that its not us

it never was

about

holding on
is about letting go
leaving
is about entering
keeping
is about existing
kissing
is about being kissed
writing
is about thinking
talking
is about feeling
creating
is about opening up
feeling
is about knowing
or not knowing
hearing
is about listening
or silence
smelling
is about sensing
running
is about getting somewhere
walking
is about experiencing
waiting
is about patience
singing
is about channeling
about about about
a b out
ab o ut
keeping
is about storing
sleeping
is about cleansing
dreaming
is about escaping
loving
is about letting go
and taking in
holding on
is about letting go

closer

Pull me in
a little closer
so I can smell your skin
so I can caress it
feel the little hairs
your little hairs
those that will grow and fall off
for what am I
but a vessel for you
to express your love
and anger
and regret
and fear
and pain
through and through

it is I who will listen to your secrets
and hide them for you
it is I who will let you know
when you have overstepped your boundaries
not my boundaries
but everyone else´s
it is I who will be asked
to love you unconditonally
no questions asked
maybe even no strings attached
except
the one
string
tying me to you

love is patient and love is kind
but it is not only that
it is also vicious
and unforgiving
and even though it might take you places
you never thought you´d go
maybe some of those places
are ones that you don´t want to see
are places that make you feel things you didn´t need to feel
or want
so I ask you
to pull me in
a little closer
let me smell your skin
let me caress it
but please let me exist
the way I want to
be the person I should be
and not the one you want
and if not..
the string will break
and you will be left with no vessel
no emotional harness
no safety net
and me..

maybe I will be better

arachni

i am a spider
and that´s not an easy thing for me to admit
because I actually loathe spiders
or I fear them
not sure which of the two is more accurate

something about them makes me shiver
I don´t know if it its because they´re silent
and they sneak up on you without any warning
or if its the fact that you´re never sure
if they have venom
you don´t know if the one staring at you
doing the slow walk
is lethal

nonetheless I have decided I am a spider
because I read somewhere that it´s good to face your fears
that it leaves you with a sense of reward
so I´m calling myself a spider
even though I wouldn´t know the first thing about being a spider
but I don´t think it can be so complicated to have
tens of eyes
and tens of legs

why writing is therapeutic and why I am starting again

It has been ages since I wrote something on this blog, a place I have kept mostly for myself as a sort of playground, a place I know almost no one visits, which makes it easy to store almost anything here.

So why did I stop?

And I mean, STOP. Because not only did I stop writing this blog, but almost stopped writing altogether.  Gone are the days of whimsical scribblings, political thoughts and hobby poetry, or at least they have been. for a long time.

The only thing I have continued doing is writing lyrics, but not without cause, never without there being a purpose for them.

Writing used to signify something for me, something which in the later years just became work. It used to be a way to let off some steam, to give space to feelings, to be able to see them on paper and in that way understand more about myself. At what point did I decide that it was time to stop seeing them? To stop understanding myself? Writing gives a new dimension to thoughts and feelings, a place where they are allowed to exist, a place to store them, to leave them, to escape them, because the mind needs help to empty, to process. And writing can be that help. It can serve as a sort of meditation, giving the mind a focus point, and the opportunity to delve deeper into some thoughts instead of either ignoring them or simply watching them pass by.

I think social media has influenced my transition into not writing at all, because of the exhibitionism it promotes and asks for. I think it makes people, including me, get away with superficial observations, and at the same time it constantly asks for more. So you get these mixed feelings - on the one hand you would like to pour your heart out to your friends, but you know that the more friends you have and the more frequently you do it, the less personal it becomes and it therefore separates itself from your actual feelings. So writing loses its importance. It´s like having a public diary, you can´t be honest so you filter out stuff, but at the same time you don´t keep an actual diary, and so those feelings that exist in between never get to come out.

The rise of social media has also brought (in my opinion) a huge focus on oneself, on what one does careerwise, that each move you make on social media needs to include some awesomeness, some talent, something unique - and this might make you shift focus - you no longer write because you want to, or you feel the need to, you either write because you want to be a writer, or you don´t write at all because you are afraid of being judged for not being better.

Anyway, these are the reasons I stopped writing, according to my intellect. Now, according to my heart things get rather easy, and rather complicated at the same time. Feelings are not easy. Thoughts are not easy. Sorting them out is NOT easy. Exposing ones vulnerability to oneself is one of the scariest things for me. Accepting what´s good and sorted and what could be better but also what really needs to change in one´s life is not easy to stare into just like that.

But I am starting again. Starting to write and express things, here, in my little corner. Maybe things will get easier to face. Maybe sorting out feelings and thoughts will get easier. Maybe writing will be fun again.

I dream of Grandma

Last night I saw something in my sleep. A sort of dream.

There were only two people in my dream - my grandmother and I. She was in her - now- permanent Alzheimer's "haze" and we were having a surreal chat as we seem to have a lot lately. In the middle of this chat, her eyes came to life and she used a phrase she never uses anymore. Something connected to her pre-Alzheimer's self. What she said is not important, it was the way she said it, and that following that phrase we had a conversation about a movie star she remembered vividly and suddenly she was there, my grandmother, and she knew me and she knew the world and herself and then, in a split second she was lost again.

So I wake up and my whole arm is numb, apparently I had slept on it, and I start shaking it violently as if I am shaking away the thought that my grandmother will ever be who she was again .. and I am crying loudly as if it was the first time, but as I feel the blood returning to my arm again, the crying stops and in I turn silent. And then I fall asleep.

Last week was hectic. I was back home, in Mykonos, and it was summer and the sun was out and my friends and family were there and we swam and tanned and ate good food. And every day I would spend a little time with grandma, some days more than others, but knowing that she will only get worse, I need to see her, even just a little bit, I need to fill my head with moments of her.

We have been taking care of her for approx. four years now. The last year and a half has been more intense, since her Alzheimer's progress seems to accelerate - her kids; my uncle, my aunt and my mom, have been taking turns on looking after her - one or two months at a time. So in October - November my mom and aunt went on holiday and I said I would look after her, I had just finished university and I was not working, so staying in Mykonos to take care of my grandmother sounded like a dream. Love all around. Sometimes it really felt like a dream.

I was exhausted. I worked at a fruit and veg-shop from 8-2 every day, and the rest of my day was dedicated to grandma. It's not much, I know. But after a week, I started feeling it. Some days I left for an hour or two to go running, and I knew she was sleeping and it would be fine. Yes, it was hard. The emotional aspect of it was the hardest, and the most difficult to deal with, because I was alone with her. But it was all worth it. To take care of a family member with Alzheimer's, or any other disease for that matter, you have to look past your own limitations and "zone of intimacy" issues, I made jokes about it and she always laughed! "Look what it's come down to, the granddaughter changing the grandmothers nappies! Isn't it meant to be the other way around?!" And she would burst with laughter, probably because she would see the irony sometimes but also because I was laughing and she thought I was funny.. It's hard to know. Alzheimer's does that to you. You try and fail or succeed and then you take it from there.

At least to a certain point.

Last week was hectic. Grandma's condition has worsened, so up until last week, we used to cut up her food and eat with her, checking how much she put in her mouth and whether she swallowed it or not. I don't remember exactly which day it was, but as I am sitting with her at the table, and she is eating, I see her trying to grab more food than she can handle and putting it all in her mouth - at once. Yes, like a child would do. And as I stop her from doing those things - a thought passes through my mind - if she continues like this, we will be facing a choking incident. I look at her and she takes a bite, then she drops her arms down and her eyes turn to glass, they are open but she is gone, and she drops down into the chair and towards the floor. I react immediately - it was as if I saw it coming - and for a split second I try the Heimlich on her afraid that I might break her rib bones, but as I know that my dad is next door and he is a doctor, I shout like I've never shouted before: DAAAAAAAAAD!!!!!! DAD!!!!! My dad reacts immediately and runs to us, he hits her hard on her back and does the Heimlich, twice, and puts his fingers in her mouth and grabs the three bites of meat she had stored in her mouth.

And she is back.

This all probably happened in 10-15 seconds. But it felt like hours. As she wakes up, my panic sets in, and I run outside, hiding my tears from her. My mom hugs me, she is crying too, and says: "Someone who knows needs to take over."

We can no longer take care of her. She has gotten to a point where she needs constant medical supervision, and we have accepted it.

It was all decided quickly. My mom went to see this amazing nursing home in Athens that deals with Alzheimer's, and she booked her in. She is there now. She has left her house, her life in Mykonos and a part of herself. I think it was supposed to be like this, it all happened so quickly that we didn't have time for goodbyes and closures and all of these things that would have made it even harder.

We all know that she will never come back to her house, and it feels like a chapter of our life has ended too. So in a way, it is an ending.

But it is also a beginning.

Black Mirror // I am no poet

On a train from Trondheim, 

going to Oslo, 

I can't help but notice my surroundings; 

eyes glued on screens, 

infinite scrolling done by fingers aging in a vacuum. 

I am a part of it too. 

But I never knew how lonely it feels. 

Being the one looking up from these backlit mirrors. 

An act of narcissism that we don't see, 

as we stare back at ourselves. 

This is isolation. 

Can you see the irony? 

On Grandmothers and Alzheimer's

On a bad day it is hard for me to remember what she used to be like before her illness overtook her.

On a good day she becomes an adjusted version of herself again.

But the good days are the hardest. 

When my grandmother first started forgetting, we all dismissed it as something natural for a person her age. Flimsiness, we thought, gets more apparent as one ages. Accepting her having Alzheimer's was hard, but as her memories faded away, it became clear that it was something we could no longer ignore. 

Writing, thinking, talking and dealing with Alzheimer's is difficult. It is presented as an illness, yet it seems to affect every single patient differently, with no obvious way of treating or handling it. Sure there are general notions of measures to take when it has consumed a person - but there seems to be no pattern.

Anyway. I am no researcher or scientist or doctor. I am simply a granddaughter of an amazing woman who got sick. 

Let me tell you about her: 

My grandmother has many talents. She is incredibly bright, well-articulated and well read. She is an amazing cook - although her musicality probably exceeds her cooking skills. She has a beautiful singing voice and she speaks three languages. She is a good mother - maybe an even better grandmother (I guess people learn from their mistakes as parents), a hard worker and a compassionate human being. Her life has been hard, at times; marrying at 19, almost dying while giving birth to her first child (of three), keeping two cafeterias and a pastry shop for years, working an office job while simultaneously renting rooms to tourists in the summer, battling her husband's addiction to gambling // her life has not been easy. Despite all these things, my grandmother has always showered us with love, a love impossible to put into words, a deep, pure love. 

I have many memories of her before the Alzheimer's - but my favorite ones are these: sitting by her kitchen table as children, "helping" her make meatballs, surrounded by the heavenly smell of heavenly food, listening to her singing, laughing at her jokes. She has always had a great sense of humor, my grandmother. And there is nothing like the smell of a grandmother's food. It is made with such affection, love and life experience - it truly is unique; at least for a grandchild. 

It started with her re-telling the same stories. It then progressed to her forgetting important details of stories, and mixing them together. Two years ago, I remember her trying to tell me how she met my grandfather, but she couldn't quite figure it out. A year ago she told me she wanted to see her mother again, "Let's jump on the ferry and visit her", she said. "Your mother has passed on", I told her, in a soft voice. She looked at me with puppy eyes filled with surprise and fear "How do you know? Who told you?", she replied. After that, the rest of us agreed, as a family, to never tell her that some of her loved ones had passed away. There is no purpose in making her grieve time and time again. 

She is a different Maria now. Surrounded by old and new photographs where she hides her remaining memories, she lives her life, day by day. We share moments of laughter, tears, anger and frustration. We have found that music soothes her, and even though she can't remember song titles, as soon as we start singing, she immediately joins in, remembering all the lyrics. It really is remarkable. We cherish both her old and new self, adjusting our behavior on a day to day basis, depending on her mood when she wakes up. 

Sometimes I struggle trying to remember her as she was. But being a part of this stage of her life is a gift, even with the hard days, I treasure every moment I have with her. Throughout her life, she has been a devoted wife, and a loving mother and grandmother. The least we can do, is try to make it up to her. 

So.. to everyone who has been affected by Alzheimer's in one way or another. I know how you feel. But what I have realized through this, is that grieving is pointless. After admitting she was ill, I grieved. But there is a time to grieve, and it is not now. No matter how hard it can be, treat each day as a blessing. Life is a series of events, of phases we go through as human beings. Dementia can be a part of it. There's no recipe on how to deal with it - except living in the present and not in the past.



You can find some info on Dementia and Alzheimer's here.

Generation Z and Mobile Politics

Lately I've been thinking about my generation. Born in the late 80's, early 90's, we are torn between the worlds of the first mobile phones and the smartphones, between MS DOS and Snow Leopard, between casette, the CD, or the mp3. Riding the tube in London, observing how everyone clings to their iPhones, like Gollum to "his precious", playing games to make time pass quicker, blocking the rest of the world out with in-ear headphones as their barriers.

The fast evolution in technology has made me, the inbetweener, confused, frustrated and sometimes, worried. Social networking sites have created an alternate reality, alternate lives for people who sought them, and for those who didn't. The constant need to be online troubles me, as I am also captivated by it. Having an iPhone meant, for me, giving into a new lifestyle that has made me a passive, and an, at times, antisocial person. And I'm just starting to realize it.

Twitter and Facebook do make our lives easier, in some aspects, we can choose to stay in touch with people from our past, we can update friends and family all at once just by one click of a mouse, and we can upload photos and share our memories in public. Blogs act as online diaries where we pour our thoughts out and serve them to ourselves and everyone else on a silver platter, and YouTube serves as constant source of entertainment. The revolutions in Tunisia, Egypt, Libya and Syria were and are very dependent on these social networking sites, and their function in that aspect is appreciated. At the same time, their function in the Western World seems to be different. These sites serve as platforms where the Average Joe gets his 15 minutes of fame, by tweeting a funny sentence, a witty line, or re-tweeting other peoples comments, becoming increasingly aware of the fact that he needs to sell himself. These are merely my observations and comments, but having used Twitter more and more lately, as I am observing others in its use, I am also observing myself.

I started thinking about all this when I saw Black Mirror, the mini-series created by Charlie Brooker. The series addresses things that exist in our society as it is now: social networks and the internet, reality shows, "15-minutes of fame", and the obsession of constantly re-visiting the past, an obsession of such a scale that, through my eyes, seems unique to my generation. I will not draw a synopsis of the series, but Charlie Brooker's version of our present and future paints a worrying picture.

Being a "leftie" politically active teenager back in the day has left its traces, and while using the internet, I try being aware of its political effectiveness. Noticing the decrease of direct action - only in the last ten years - at least in Norway, leaves me wondering whether people that used to be politically active have taken to the Internet - continuing their "work" online. It seems we are living in a world that is increasingly being governed by money, banks and corporations, where politicians play their role convincingly at times.. still they seem powerless. Political decisions made in a single country count for nothing - when that country is being governed by higher institutions - by EUs and IMFs.

The question is, is the Internet a fair replacement for direct action? For protests and demonstrations?
On the other hand, maybe direct action never really made a difference. Maybe we never really stood a chance against the people that hold the power. I do respect the power that the Internet can have. But mostly, I worry. I worry that it acts like a veil, imposed by people that benefit from the lack of direct action - bringing more and more apathy to countries in the Western World that are as well off as Norway is. Who cares about the genocide in Syria when we can read about the 5:2 diet? What makes a more interesting read, how to get the perfect bum, or the continuing crisis in Greece?

Technology does have power. But it also distracts, it hypnotizes, it gets you to a point where you live your life virtually - forgetting about the real world - therefore giving the people in charge the room to do exactly as they please with your world. Of course I realize the irony of this piece of writing - published in the same virtual world that I have spent this post worrying about. Well.. When in Rome.

Bedtime Stories // I am no poet

A silent bed whimpers in misery,
dreaming of times when it spoke a thousand words.
Of married folk, of lords and mistresses,
of trembling teenagers and secret lust.

Its clothes have been ripped off,
torn, burnt and hidden.
Its wooden body lays covered in dust as it stands
in a stripped down space longing for one last embrace that may never come.
Like an ancient relic needing to be discovered
its history will never be unlocked by warm bodies tangled up in knots,
by fiery breaths and lingering looks -
by blonde locks of hair resting on its velvet body.

No one will ever study the wooden embellishments carved on each side
or hide under the feather blanket;
an old companion locked away in a closet somewhere.

As this bed stands silently, its siblings speak restlessly;
they squeak and weep and mutter and flutter
they breathe and cry, they laugh and stutter.
Naivety intact.

A joyous dance,
as they stand unaware of their ill-fated future,
yet to hear the tale of our silent friend
with a story to tell.

Ballad for Grandma

You want your husband to come home
you hate to be all on your own
oh Maria
why don't you come with me

You have forgotten why you're cold
spend all your time looking at the boats
Oh Maria
what are you looking for

I feel you slipping away
Maria don't run away
I know you don't want to stay
but Maria
if you stay
I'll stay too

You had to feed a thousand mouths
You were a queen without a crown
don't you see that
it was all worthwhile

You hide your memories in things
and you still know the words to sing
you have the feelings
but you don't know what they mean

I feel you slipping away
Maria don't run away
I know you don't want to stay
But Maria
if you stay

I'll stay too

©ogtoringer

MOLE

I have lost my mind
I have no sense of right and wrong
Think I'm turning blind
think I'm falling in a deep deep hole

Living in a hole
My head on the road
Living in a hole
My head on the road

Words are coming in
Silences are running out
Always try to win
In the end I'm falling in a hole

Living in a hole
My head on the road
Living in a hole
My head on the road

©ogtoringer

Broen // Invader Ace - The Split Jump Drug EP out now via Kakao Musikk

Now available for online purchase on Spotify, iTunes, Amazon and other online services.

INCREDIBLE FACTS ABOUT YOU
Did you know: 

how much one event can change a person?
how much one encounter can do the same? 
how much ONLY ONE encounter can change everything?
how much your encounter makes you believe that it changes everything?
how much of yourself you give away to believe it?
how much you mould yourself into something that makes it true?
how much you think it makes it true but it really doesn't?
how much you lie to yourself thinking you're doing the right thing?
how much effort you put into something that makes no difference at all?
how much your encounter invests into changing you without you noticing?
how much your encounter puts the blame on you?
how much your encounter ignores all the effort you put into it so that it makes no difference at all?
how much time you will spend blaming yourself for the loss of the encounter?
how much time you will spend blaming the encounter for the loss of you?
how long you will suffer over one encounter turning your life and your being sideways?

Η Μύκονος και το Χωροταξικό

Είμαι εξοργισμένη. Είμαι μυκονιάτισσα, 23 χρονών, και νιώθω μία οργή μέσα μου να μεγαλώνει.

Απόψε πήγα στην ενημερωτική εκδήλωση για το Χωροταξικό της Μυκόνου. Μια καλή προσπάθεια από τους οργανωτές, αυτό να λέγεται. Καθώς οι δύο ομιλιτές αδέξια προσπάθησαν να εξηγήσουν κάποια πράγματα μέσα από επαγγελματική πείρα, κοιτώντας γύρω μου πραγματικά αναρωτήθηκα ποιό ακριβώς ήταν το κύριο θέμα της συζήτησης. Κατά το τελείωμα των διαλέξεων που δόθηκαν από τους δύο ομιλιτές με κυριάρχισε μια αίσθηση πνιγμού, γιατί μιλώντας με όρους δικούς τους και ακαδημαϊκούς, κατάφεραν να με πνίξουν. Σίγουρα δεν ειναι λάθος. Αλλά σε μια εκδήλωση που γίνεται ουσιαστικά για να ενημερωθούν οι απλοί κάτοικοι του νησιού και όχι οι πολιτικοί του, χρησιμοποιόντας ειδικευμένη ορολογία ο στόχος αυτός χάνεται.

Τέλος πάντων. Το θέμα μου είναι άλλο. Γιατί η οργή? Κατάλαβα, μετά από έναν τρίωρο διάλογο, πόσο άρρωστη είναι η χώρα μας. Το νησί μας. Κατά την διάρκεια της ζωής μου έχω δεί το λουλούδι που ήταν κάποτε η Μύκονος σιγά σιγά να να μαραίνεται και να αργοπεθαίνει. Ανάμεσα στις βίλλες και τα ξενοδοχεία, τους οικισμούς και τα εμπορικά κέντρα, η ψυχή που είχε κάποτε αυτός ο πανέμορφος τόπος φαίνεται να σβήνει. Αυτοί που παίρνανε τις αποφάσεις όταν εγώ και οι συνομίλικοί μου είμασταν βρέφη ακόμα, δεν είχαν ποτέ το θάρρος να σκεφτούν το δικό μας μέλλον, τη δικιά μας ζωή και τη δουλειά που θα πρέπει να κάνουμε εμείς όταν ο δικός τους ο κόσμος καταρρεύσει. Ανάμεσα στα λαδώματα και τα φακελάκια, πρέπει τώρα η δική μου γενιά να τα καθαρίσει όλα. Και πραγματικά αναρωτιέμαι, αν αυτοί οι άνθρωποι πραγματικά καταλαβαίνουν το βάρος αυτό που τοποθετήθηκε πάνω στους δικούς μας ώμους. Μέσα απο αυτήν την εκδήλωση απλά κατάλαβα πως η φλυαρία έχει κυριαρχίσει όλα αυτά τα χρόνια, βάζοντας την πράξη στη σκιά. Γι'αυτό και πιστεύω οτι τα λόγια σε αυτή τη φάση ειναι περιττά. Γιατί να με νοιάζουν οι μελέτες, αν αυτοί που τις ερεύνησαν δεν εχουν πατήσει πόδι στο νησί? Γιατί να με νοιάζουν οι μελέτες αφού μπορώ να λαδώσω τον ξάδερφο της πεθεράς της αδερφής μου για να μου χτίσει το αυθαίρετο?

Για μένα, λίγα από αυτά που ειπώθηκαν απόψε είχαν ουσία. Όμως αυτό που με ταρακούνησε ήταν οτι πραγματικά συνειδητοποίησα πως αν δεν αλλάξουμε εμείς την δικιά μας νοοτροπία, δεν θα αλλάξει τίποτα. Γιατί αυτή η χώρα μπορεί να κατάφερε απο θαύμα να επιβιώσει όλα αυτά τα χρόνια, αλλά έχει πλέον φτάσει στο σταυροδρόμι και πρέπει εμείς να της αλλάξουμε πορεία. Πρέπει να μιλάμε ανοιχτά για τις παρανομίες που γίνονται ΚΆΘΕ ΜΈΡΑ, και όχι να τις αγνοούμε, και να τις θεωρούμε μέρος της ελληνικής κουλτούρας. Ήρθε η ώρα να χαράξουμε εμείς τον καινούριο δρόμο για την Μύκονο, και να το συζητάμε κάθε μέρα. Να το πολεμάμε. Γιατί τελικά, απ'ότι φαίνεται, εξαρτάται μόνο απο εμάς.

GOLDEN TOWER

PAST REPEATED
ANGRY NATION
ALL THE HATRED
SEGREGATION
/
NATION SHAKING
BRINGS DEPRESSION 
COUNTRY'S BUILT ON
SELF SUPRESSION
/
/
STEP AWAY NOW
LEAVE YOUR MOTHER
BE PREPARED TO 
LOVE YOUR BROTHER
/
* THE GOLDEN DAWN HITS THE GOLDEN TOWER
SO IT SEEMS IT'S THE GOLDEN HOUR
SO STAND UP
UNZIP YOUR FLIES
WE GIVE THE GOLDEN DAWN A GOOD OLD GOLDEN SHOWER*
/
/
ONE THING BINDS US
GHOST REVIVAL
ALL THIS BLINDS US
MONUMENTAL POWER
/
PITCH BLACK CROW EYES
LEAD TO EMPTY BRAINDEAD DICKHEADS
LUMPS OF MUSCLE
/
** THE GOLDEN DAWN HITS THE GOLDEN TOWER
SO IT SEEMS IT'S THE GOLDEN HOUR
SO STAND UP
UNZIP YOUR FLIES
WE GIVE THE GOLDEN DAWN A GOOD OLD GOLDEN SHOWER**
/

COPYRIGHT: BROEN

ΜΠΑΤΣΟΣΟΠ

GREECE vs. THE POLICE

Everyone who is Greek or has lived in Greece is fully aware of the corruption and constant abuse of authority that is the GREEK POLICE. Tough guys hiding behind a uniform as their mask, sadist violent pigs at their worst. I don't like generalizing. But when it comes to this issue, by generalizing I am ignoring a rather small minorty of people actually doing their jobs, if they even exist. These photos (below) were released after having arrested these alleged terrorists who were involved in robbing two banks. My problem is not with the arrest. My problem lies in the lack of democrary, humanity, and to be honest, the lack of COMMON_fucking_SENSE in this institution. You arrest, you question, you investigate. Nowhere inbetween those steps is there a hidden one that says - "oh by the way, beat them senseless". I don't know whether these kids are responsible. I'd really rather not contemplate on that - as it is not important at this point. The very cradle of democracy has crossed the line so far in that, to quote Joey from Friends, the line has turned into a DOT. Most of us know that this has been going on for a long time. But the fact that the police themselves know, that by publishing these photos that have obviously been manipulated (don't know if using the brush tool on Paint even classifies), they will go unpunished, is unreal. It's like they're doing it on purpose, taking the piss. To be honest, there's nothing I'd love more than to take a piss on Greek Police right about now.

Article in Greek on LIFO here.

poems on planes/i am no poet/part 3

AMSTERDAM - TRONDHEIM
thinking about the flight from AMSTERDAM - ATHENS
on the smallest plane ever, EMBRAER 190.

"Do you want one?"
No thanks, he said
in a thick scottish accent.
I wasn't sure what he meant
until I saw his electric cigarette.

"It's swedish
it's tobacco,
they sell it in Norway too,
that's where I'm from."

He asked me why I'm going to Greece,
Why I would choose the poor country, not the rich.

I didn't understand his question until he said he was working for a norwegian company:
"We are searching for oil in greek waters".

It infuriated me.
The thought of one homeland expoliting the other.
But it wasn't his fault.
He's just a poor old Scot,
no real agenda,
other than to support his family
working a job that always changes
always frustratingly
far
away.

His breath smelled of beer.
Mine smelled of wine.
Fifty-something years old
balled,
ring in his ear.

We really had nothing in common.
Not a single thing.
Yet, I found some comfort in this conversation with a stranger whose words I occasionally understood -
he had a thick accent.

A three hour flight can pass quickly by,
talking to a guy with so much to say.
His drunk mumbling was a lullaby to my constant paranoia.

Thank you for distracting me.
You made my day.