The barometer is full and I am trying to get myself into the spirit of an old holiday. The holiday which as a kid I felt coming through my impatience for schools to close, the light Athenian winter which at the time felt heavy, the games in the rare snow with my childhood friends, and the cold nights on mountains in front of a fireplace listening to 90’s tunes. Lest I sound stuck to the past, I always complain against inertia and massification. I complain to everyone who fly high (Greek: άνθρωπος(human)> άνω(high) + θρώσκω(fly)) but have forgotten to think outside of their personal microcosm, to those who can’t remember how life without a cell phone yet being always everywhere feels like.
I try to get myself into the spirit of an old holiday that speaks of love. Since years I have refused the “each for himself and God for all” motto. I always tried to help the weak, poor, simple, and alienated with the means I had in my disposal. Food, blanket, cigarette, and I didn’t stain with blood my hands or my consciousness. Within the events of the past decade as I grew to become an adult, I realised that in the name of any God, any Country, any Liberty, and any purer vague meanings of human ideals, the most egregious crimes took, take, and will continue to take place. Nothing can stop them until the day when it will no longer be possible for the few to hurt the many…possibly because they will be too powerful but still so alone and so few and petty to.
Until the next holidays I demand shelter for every family, food for every mouth, education for every heart, and light for every mind in a Globe divided in boarders of interests. I am eventually sure that human history has not began, we have seen nothing yet. I am now certain that we live the last period of the prehistoric era. It is otherwise impossible to fit in my head how anyone could possibly attempt to reject all unwritten rules that govern social life. I can’t grasp how anyone could go unpunished by infringing our ties with nature destroying mountains, oceans, and rivers, that is all that was created million of years before man within time-consuming and complex physical and chemical procedures to bring us close, to unite us in societies, and not to divide us into nations.
The truest story of a person, his real being, is not to be found in the surroundings or the external environment. You encounter it in his esoteric development, in his spirit and soul, in his entirely own universal consciousness and thought. Let’s fight for happiness not to be translated into a deserted sense, a “big talk” drowned in the still waters of survival, personal security, and ownership.
And you? Will you be trying to escape from the culs-de-sac and momentary streets, will you reflect in the eyes of others the decayable beauty, will you run to hide from what is real until your feet can no longer feel the ground, until you are swallowed by the moving mass of your human vanity.
The Lord is reborn every year, let’s see when we will come to our senses.
P.S. I might still be one of those punks that spend their nights around the streets of the city reading and writing ideological nonsense in notebooks. Kid, hurry to grow up before the years grow you old.