Sep 20, 2010
Katerina at Fashion Week Athens F/W'10'11, Technopoli at Gazi. Photo by Streetgeist
What makes this "so Greek"?
Conservativism: black and more black in somber, Spartan lines. Check!
Rebelliousness: introducing a non matching toffee-brown hue via the accessories. Check!
Unwillingness to forsake femininity: nipped waist, hose, high-heel T-bar ankle-straps, red lipstick. Check!
Tradition: The white scarf on the head turban-style isn't miles removed from the folk garment of centuries past. Check!
Sep 17, 2010
Sep 6, 2010
All these years I have been searching for you in my maps,
even though you never leaned your lips on my forehead to leave a breath in my life.
And if my prayer smells of alcohol, of tobacco and of fever,
to the glassy wave your name I shout;
I shout your name, so that my voice is mirrored.
And if on the shore where you're combing your hair,
it's heard like a salty song that the water brings you, enamored,
to the devil I'll sell my soul, I, so that I can be wrapped tonight
at your body's depths.
Somewhere the night is hanging mid-ocean to the gallows of the skies,
and the demon is riding the darkness, clutching my wish mid-air.
Like a hot star towards your island, he throws my words,
hurting the rocks and the sand,
and he pins my soul on your hair comb.
And drop by drop, I stream, I,
like salty water on the shoulders and your dear neck.
Nevermind that I know he is biding his time on top the rope-ladder,
waiting for me, waiting to file away the ropes.
It's been years that strange lights shine across on some land,
on some forsaken island,
which is said to be the peaks of heaven.
But I know it's the sea's spell,
there's no such land, since no one ever went there.
So I grab myself tightly from your body,
and in front of the damned I pass,
like a shadow which promenades your scent through Hades.
And I think, it's heaven, my little love,
to share this hell together.
translation author's own