Fecundity of Eros To see life the way others see it to believe that dust is always dust not legions of meanings dust filled with rustling and directions the messenger, not the message we arrived at the wrong shores crossing an incomplete destiny and poetry is the reflection of the missing mass of dreams fata morgana, erotic signal up high, the invisible makes the flower tremble puts the chord on fire of the eternal world that struggles not knowing where to turn. The endless unanswered letters the path between the heart and light hands around the end of sorrow floating diaphaneity that suddenly vanishes to reappear with whatever ever holy or sinful existed a passing moment sanctified passage erases the people’s footprints on the wind-battered earth. As if it was the first day of Justice.
“I’m interested in one gemstone,” he said. “Which one?” “If you let me see them, I’ll pick out the one I’m interested in.” In his father’s den, he looked through the collection and chose one. The next day he gave it to Miloo. She put her arms around him and held him tight, shivering and crying against him. “This is only a minor token of the way I feel about you,” Ken said. “I love you beyond words and this is only a symbol of that love.” “I’m so frightened of the feelings I have,” she cried. “I’m going to ask you not to be,” Ken said. “Don’t be frightened. It’s fear that kills us. I’ve been talking with the Canadian ambassador about going to Canada and I want you to come with me.” “Canada? It sounds so far away. It sounds so dangerous.” “Yes, it is far away, but how could it be any more dangerous than where we are right now? Look at what’s going on here. There are more people disappearing every day and everyone is pretending that nothing is happening. No one is doing anything about it. Everyone goes home at night, looking around corners and holding their breath – wondering if they’ll get a knock on the door at three in the morning and disappear too. I won’t live that way.” “What can you do about it?” “There are always things you can do if you don’t let fear get in the way. If you stop thinking you shut the door on fear. When you start to think about things you get fearful. You just have to have the simplest of plans and stop thinking. Carry it out. For instance, these people who are informing – what on earth are they informing on in a village like this? What could the local people be doing that could possibly be of any danger to anyone? This is corruption beyond the imagination. This is madness. My grandmother told me one of her Spanish sayings – not all those who are in the madhouse are mad and not all those who are out aren’t. From what I see, I think that the lunatics are out and they’ve put us in the asylum.” He took her hand. “Will you come to Canada with me?” “I’d have to leave my family.” “You and your family don’t get along.” “But, they are still my family.” “Would you like to live in a country where we have the freedom and the right to be who we are?” “Yes, I would.” “Would you like to live with me?” “Yes.” “Do you love me?” “Yes.” “Enough to come?”
FROM OBLOMOV’S JOURNAL Rainy day in the afternoon It’s getting more and more difficult to get started, to start again, to make myself do it and get it over with. I am becoming more and more alienated from youth, like the one who is alienated from what he is not anymore, from who he was. It’s not a betrayal, I’m just forgetting; I’m busy with others or not and I forget. Another day, in the morning I look at my body as if to an alien planet on which I settled. I immerse myself into the peace and dreams with it, I procrastinate because of its moods, I always procrastinate. It’s a kind of symbiosis between me and the flesh planet, which sees, hears, feels, sleeps and rests. Together in some kind of love and death. Me or it, one of us has to give in.
Manolis Aligizakis 