Say Water, not Cheese…



What lies in front of the mirror, is a figure which I am not entirely familiar with.  Yet I remain calm and slightly content. I also see a few candles, black ones, and some lyrics on the wall.  Wall I said? Well forget about the wall. There are no boundaries, now. The space is open. In fact, I feel a bit exposed through this infinite openness that has been surrounding me since, well, forever, yet for some strange reason, walls did exist up until now, so did buildings, so did property. In other words,  possessions… such a fucking illusion.

Am I an illusion as well? I truly don’t know. In fact, I don’t care. I am only here because people who love me choose to see me, choose to define my existence (probably for their own selfish reasons.) I don’t blame anybody; on the contrary, I am grateful for them. They give me a chance to write, to draw, to express my feelings, to laugh and cry, to wonder and wander. To make love or fuck around, to smoke and drink, to exercise ‘my’ body and mind, to dance and Think, to travel, to taste new flavors, to feel joy and pain, to see and hear: flowers, trees, mountains, waterfalls, oceans, cities and countries.  To watch the sun rise and the sun set-and all the enchanted colors that come in between. Finally and most importantly, they offer me a chance to know them, truly experience them. Maybe in that way I get to meet/know myself or whatever I am supposed to be.

Missing pieces of a greater puzzle? Dysfunctional pawns of a greater board game? Obscure model figures of a great artist? Witty characters in a great novel?  Nop.

We are nothing but water. Flowing through each other… like a virus. Each and every one of us, share a bit of our water to one another and we manage to sustain in ‘Life’.  How beautiful is that? A constant need for each other, crucial for our maintenance. What, you don’t believe me? The percentage of water in an average adult human body is around 60 per cent. In the case of an infant is even more so, 75-80 per cent. ‘Our’ planet’s surface constitutes of around 70 per cent of water. Without water there are no plants, not a tree, not a fish, not an animal, not you and me. Do you get me now? With no water you have no chance for breathing. Divine, radiant, purified, brilliant water. ..Although I am aware we come from the same Fountain, there are quite a few varieties of water, just for the sake of diversity. Some people resemble calm waters, others stormy. Some of us, taste like sparkling water, others like still water. Those who are reserved can easily be portrayed as a lake and those who are vociferous are like a river. Those who take calculating risks symbolize the sea and the enthusiasts of Revolution, form the ocean.

Water… I do, sincerely, hope we all know how to swim, otherwise some might get drowned by their own existence.

What lies in front of the mirror is a figure which I am not entirely familiar with.  Yet I remain calm and slightly content. I, now, have two options: whether to be a part of this chain/this circle of giving –receiving water, or to summon upon a tsunami, to wash down all the filth and decay and leave behind nothing but koalas and trees (and a few unorthodox and teasing cacti).

Well, everything seems fine at the moment. I’ll just sit here for a little while and have a glass of water. All of a sudden, I feel thirsty…


14 thoughts on “Say Water, not Cheese…

    1. photography: the power of illusion (or maybe not?)..nop this guitar belongs to someone else. Given the chance, lets say to have a talent in this world , would have picked that of a musician (there is nothing better in this world- for me- than to know how to play an instrument but i do suck so i’ll leave it for the moment.) My choices however wouldn’t be a guitar (nor a bouzouki)..
      didgeridoo and Kamanche do the trick ! pf, who am i kidding? guitar and bouzouki would be just fine.

      Liked by 1 person

      1. Kαλημέρα, μεγάλε μου!

        Did you steal it?

        Excellent choices. And the bongos?

        I once dabbled in music. Played the recorder until I was about 5. Reached Grade II, I think. Then the piano, and then the violin. Tried guitar in my teens, but only ’cause everything else was doing it. I was good. Very good. Very, very good. But, really, my heart wasn’t isn’t. I’m not suggesting my music teachers didn’t consider me pitch-perfect – I was; still am – but as the years rolled by, it was better for me to hark melody than create it. I simply can’t compete with Mozart, Bach, Beethoven and Schubert. No time.

        Can I surprise you? I can? Good. I love to draw. Well, doodle. I love whiling away spare minutes or hours in the office just drawing straight lines – and, if I’m in the mood, the odd circle. I have a drawing dream: to be able to draw a perfect circle. I’m not there yet. Time will tell. Anyway, having created various odd shapes, I love colouring – well, pencilling – them in. It’s most therapeutic. I guess, in those moments, that mind and body are in alignment. I also love to render the female form. The human female form. In the most compromising positions. It would be wrong for me to hang them on my office wall, so generally I just throw them away. It’s a bit Dadaistic, but I don’t do it out of any ulterior motive. I just do it. I have a great aunt that came out to Greece in October, with a few friends, to go on a painting course around . . . I can’t remember. I told her I would love to join them next time. Again I can’t claim to be anywhere near cutting an ear off – I have painted two paintings in my life (both when I was 13) – but I would love to get back into it.

        Slayer out.

        Liked by 1 person

      2. slayer i am pleasantly surprised..nothing happens by chance. you came here for a reason. i am glad to know you play the piano and the violin..once i told my parents (when their opinion mattered) that i want to give up my studies and start the violin and they both look at me like i was an alien..very discouraging, sometimes i think what if? what if now i was a good violin player..but ok, everything happens for a reason. I would also liked to see your drawings. So how many talents have you got man? don’t know but music is well above everything for me!. do you speak greek or is this from google translate..haha..μεγάλε μου!

        Liked by 1 person

      3. It’s never too late to pick up a violin, μεγάλε. Whether you render Schubert’s String Quintet in C Major or a tub-full of drowning cats is another matter, but it’s never too late. I’ve often told myself it’s all a matter of time. Some disagreed. Some say time irrelevant; that if you truly want to do something, you WILL find the time. There are 24 hours in each day. That’s a long time. So the question is: How much of that time do you want to use or “waste”? Now I could write, “I’m too busy with office work and therefore I don’t have the time (and I’m too important) to write this.” But, really, I choose to. I choose to write this instead of doing office work. Am I using time here or wasting it? Depends on your angle really. Depends of my purpose. I adore writing, here and generally, so I humbly believe I am “using” it. From a professional perspective, I’m wasting it. Round and round we go. Anyway, the jury is still out on “Time & How To Use (or Waste) It”. We can come back to this.

        I can send you some of my doodlings if you’d like. And the paintings. Don’t get your hopes up. I never had any lessons. My late maternal grandfather, Ben Brocklehurst, was a great painter. He toured Corfu and the Greek islands painting mainly marine landscapes. He’s not shouting in my ear to take it up again: it’s more of a persistent whisper. We shall see.

        Talents? Bah! Despite the ineffable polymathematics you see here, my only real ability was athletic. Cricket. I have been burdened with the pressure of coming from a long line of outstanding cricketers. Moving out of those long shadows, stepping out of massive shoes I could never fill, walking my own path, has been the greatest struggle I have known, and in large part explains my exile to this beautiful but economically-disastrous country. Like you, I had to reach a point where I simply didn’t give a flying fuck what anyone – particularly my own family – thought. Some would look at me and call me a rebel. A rebel without a cause. That’s fine. But at least I’m original. And at least, when this brief dance is over, I can know, and feel proud, that I did it all a certain way: My Way.

        (P.S. Yes, I do speak Greek. Increasingly intelligibly.)

        Liked by 1 person

      4. I love to whistle too. I mean, I love to whistle the word “too” – sometimes “two”.

        And sing. I don’t mean, sing: I’m not asking you to sing. I mean, I love to sing too. The word. Twice.

        And dance. Again, don’t dance. Watch me dancing a few years back. I’m in the orange top, very light-grey jeans and orange trainers. I was elsewhere.

        Liked by 1 person

      5. hm..maybe i won’t..indeed you were elsewhere, if we take in consideration that nowadays you would think stylistically orange trainers match better with an orange top. haha! people do make mistakes-even crazy yet charismatic monkeys too.. lets bomb this blog..tick, tock..

        Liked by 1 person

  1. I much prefer relating to water than feeling like an object adrift. In all my changing states (I could be snow melting fast under ice, or a transitory pool in the hollow of a desert rock, full of tiny shrimp, or molecules sweeping up to ride the clouds who-knows-where but falling hopefully among friends, maybe even into that revolutionary ocean) I try to channel my hydrologic power for good. It doesn’t always work, but when my good intentions go awry I can always blame the moon. 😉

    Liked by 2 people

  2. Mountain rivers,

    springs of melting snow;

    water falls cascading.

    That’s my form,

    (at least for now)


    in a rainbow way,

    greeting you in waves.
    Love your post. Meredith

    Liked by 1 person

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