Διάβασε με:
 Μία ιστορία γεμάτη λάθη,
Εμπνευσμένη από άτομα "αρμόδια".

Μου'παν:
 "Κράτα μεγάλο καλάθι
και γέμισε το με εφόδια".

Δε μου'παν πως:
 Τα εφόδια ήταν πάθη,
πάθη που γίνανε εμπόδια.

Μάθημα:
 Να δω την μοναδική πραγματικότητα:
Κρυμμένη πίσω απ'τη σύγχρονη κανονικότητα,
όπου κάθε μία ατομικότητα,
αξίζει "παραπάνω" από κάθε συλλογικότητα.

Πάθημα:
 Σε ούτε μισό αιώνα,
έχω σταματήσει κάθε αγώνα.
Μεταξύ εμένα κι άλλων μονάδων,
μέσα απ'το πέρασμα των συμπλυγάδων.

 Έχτισα, γκρεμίστηκα, έσπασα και διχάστηκα.
Τα κομμάτια μου μάζεψα.
Είτε ξύπνησα, είτε χάζεψα,
μα σίγουρα πολλαπλασιάστηκα.

 Εσυ, τι θες να βρεις από μένα;
Ιδανικά,
ή δανεικά;


Π.

Being (in) love

 I love you.
With all my heart.
So,
I (don't) love (just) you.
I love you
There is no you.
No receiver.
I love.
So much,
that I forget.
I love you
While being love and not "in love with",
I forget I.
So there's no I.
No sender.
There is no you.
There is no I.
There is love.
Just a letter.
And there is no one.
No I, no you.
No one to write these lines.
No one to read them.
There are no words and languages.
Just love.


vlospa

How?

 One wishes one would just fall asleep.

But even more,
to never again have to wake up again.

How can one dream,
when one is unable to sleep?


vlospa

Words to describe what can't be described in words.

In what language where our first thoughts?
How can I talk (about) the forgotten language?
Those silent conversations.
Moments of realisations.

So there was "I", and I was there too. Diving into the deepest trance so far.
Till I start losing/forgetting my senses. Taste, smell, hearing, touch and sight.
"I" was getting weaker. Then I let go of my strongest bonds.
And "I" disappeared. There was no Pavlos. That was just a name.
Less. There was no such sensation of having a body.
And my bonds? The separation at least, is an illusion. 
There was no Pavlos, so there were no bonds. Or everyone was Pavlos, or I was everyone.
Call it all is one, call it I am you. Call it as it suits you.
All the words in this text are for you. About it. But for you.

I could not (and didn't need to) see. It felt like. floating, dark blue, steam/smoke, consciousness.
Until I saw 2.
1. My body in an insane asylum, me all happy, but beyond connection with anything and anyone in this world. 1 person talking with a doctor saying "He is gone" and I could feel the small and short sadness in the person. I could also see and feel the large amount of happiness in and around my body.
2. My body's funeral. Being buried, small funeral, just like the amount of sadness surrounding the few attendants. However whatever/ whomever they were crying for, that was happy. I still felt happiness.

Then back to the dark blue steam floating consciousness.
Had a silent conversation, a tour.
Felt like "This is the afterlife". I got to the point, of realising "so that was it", and I smiled.
A silent invisible nod, confirmed my realisation.
"Would you go back, who would go back?", I was silently asked. A bit mockingly.
And I saw parts of my life. Periods that felt like moments.
"I'll go back for a while". And I smiled again.

I was happy.
No! This is not enough, not accurate enough.
I was happiness?
No. Still not enough..
There was happiness.
No. Close enough though.
I was happiness and there was no I.
This feels like it.

I came to my senses and my mouth was open (felt like it was quite some time, but I understood nothing) and dry, breathing felt as if someone "brought me to life".

Attempting to put in words something predating words and exceeding them. Something not experienced with means that give the stimuli perceived by our senses. So how can it be put into words, or pictures?
Unfair. Impossible. Poetry?


Pavlos - vlospa kasbe.

Είμαι. /(Αυτό) - I am. /(That)

Ξέχασα το όνομα μου. 
Έτσι είπα να χορέψω γυμνός. 

Γυμνός από κάθε έγνοια και σκέψη,
κι όπως ένα φύλλο καβαλά τον αέρα

Έτσι να κινηθώ, ανάλαφρα. Ώσπου να μη κινούμαι.
Ωσπου να βρίσκομαι παντού.

Δε κάνει πια κρύο,
το φως διαπέρασε την ομίχλη.

Στη σιωπή πια τραγουδώ.
Ξέχασα και να το δείξω, μα χαμογελώ.

Ξέχασα, ξέχασα πολλά.
Θυμήθηκα μονάχα ένα.

Είμαι, αυτό. Αυτό,
που προηγείται των λέξεων κι είναι πέρα απ'αυτές.


Παύλος (...) - vlospa kasbe


I forgot my name.
So I decided to dance naked.

Naked from every concern and thought,
and like a leaf rides the wind,

Move like that, lightly. Till I'm not moving.
Till I am everywhere.

It's no longer cold.
The light penetrated the fog.

In the silence I now sing.
I forgot also to show it, but I smile.

I forgot, I forgot a lot.
I remembered only one.

I am, that. That,
which precedes words and is beyond them.


Pavlos (...) - vlospa kasbe

Το μεγαλύτερο αριστούργημα / Greatest masterpiece

 Από όλες μου τις δημιουργίες, η πιο θαυμαστή!
Στο σημείο που μαγεύτηκα κι ο ίδιος τόσο,
ώστε να ξεχάσω πως (αυτό*) δεν είναι πραγματικό.
Ποιό;

Το Εγώ.

 Έδωσα σχήμα και χρώμα, συνέθεσα κι έγραψα, τραγούδησα και χόρεψα.
Τίποτα κι ουδέποτε ξεπέρασε το μεγαλύτερο μου αριστούργημα.
Και πως; Αφού ποτέ, τίποτα ούτε καν κοντά έφτασε.

Στο Εγώ.

 Η λεπτομέρεια είναι που κάνει τη διαφορά.
Κι ένιωθα ξεχωριστός σε ένα κολάζ όσων είχα επιλέξει και όχι.
Παύλος, Έλληνας, αριστερόχειρας. Η μάσκα έγινε τατουάζ.

Ως εδώ!

 Λίγο λίγο το* μαδάω κι επιστρέφει στην πηγή.
Η δύναμη των λέξεων, ζηγώνει το τέλος της.
Ένα ταξίδι δίχως την παραμικρή μετακίνηση.

Ευχαριστώ.


* το Εγώ


vlospa kasbe


 Out of all my creations, the most wonderous one!
To the point I myself got charmed so,
that I forgot that (it*) is not real.
Which?

The Me.

 I gave shape and colour, composed and wrote, danced sang.
Nothing and never surpassed my greatest masterpiece.
And how? When never, anything even reached near.

To the Me.

 It is the detail that makes the difference.
And I felt special in a collage of all I had chosen and not.
Pavlos, Greek, left handed. The mask became a tattoo.

That's enough!

Little by little I peel it* and it gets back to the source.
The power of words nears its end.
A journey without the slightest movement.

Thanks.


* the Me


vlospa kasbe

Πως και δε γνωριστήκαμε; / How come we didn't meet? / Miten me emme tutustuneet?

 Χτυπάς την πόρτα μου.
Και ξέρω πως είσαι εσύ.
Μα δε κοιτάω, απλά
Ρωτάω ποιος είναι.
Μα εσύ δεν απαντάς.
Κι εγώ δεν ανοίγω την πόρτα.



 You knock my door.
And I know it is you.
But I don't look, just
I ask who it is.
But you don't answer.
And I don't open the door.



 Koputat oveni.
Ja tiedän että olet sinä.
Mutta en katso, vaan
Kysyn kuka on.
Mutta sinä et vastaa.
Ja minä en avaa.


vlospa kasbe