Down with the drama(?)

Καλησπέρες, καλή χρονία.

Μου βγήκε λίγο thoughts like bullets through my brain, καλά να πάθω που γράφω ξενέρωτος.
Επίσης, και 'γώ τα ίδια σκατά είμαι.

Τείνουμε να δραματοποιούμε τα πράγματα που μας συμβαίνουν, όμως γιατί?
Τί είναι αυτό που μας κάνει να φαντασιωνόμαστε, και ακόμα χειρότερα, να ενσαρκώνουμε
ρόλους που κατακρίνουμε?

Μήπως τα έχουμε δεί όλα πια σε υστερικό βαθμό και αισθανόμαστε "λίγοι" όταν δεν αντιδρούμε ανάλογα?
Μήπως έχουμε τόσο πια αποστασιωποιηθεί λόγω της υπερέκθεσης που σχεδόν ονειροβατούμε και έτσι τίποτα δεν είναι αληθινό, "δεν μετράει", οπότε γιατί να μην το διακωμωδήσουμε/δραματοποιήσουμε/δοκιμάσουμε?
Μήπως, ερχόμαστε σε επαφή με τόσο κόσμο που για να καθοριστούμε, καταφεύγουμε σε μια ακόμα εντονότερη παρουσία?
Είμαστε όλοι ιδιαίτεροι και ξεχωριστοι, ε?
Νομίζεις, όταν έχεις 200 Μαρίες που αναρωτούνται για την απάθεια, 127 Πέτρους που λένε "το κάψαμε χτές", 500 bloggers που σχολιάζουν και το παίζουν έξυπνοι,55 friends που πήγαν από "single" σε "it's complicated" και 348 "ψαγμένους" που postάρουν "food for thought", what makes you so damn special?
So you overcompensate.
Enter the drama,
τα πομπώδη status, και οι "ηχηρές" διαγραφές.

Τα "είμαι μόλις 15 αλλά ακούω Def Leppard και Lynyrd Skynyrd και ας με κοροιδεύουν οι φίλοι μου" σε τελείως αγνώστους στο youtube.

Α! και η βαρεμάρα. Αυτός ο λήθαργος. Καhταρhααα!
Γιατί?
Επειδή,στο κάτω κάτω, όλα λίγο πόλυ τα 'χουμε ζήσει ή/και δεί. Και τα βαριόμαστε, γιατί δεν είναι special. Θέλουμε ένα 80's montage, ένα fast forward,στο 'καλό κομμάτι, στο "money shot", γιατί έτσι το 'χουμε δεί, αυτό περιμένουμε. Αυτό και τη σειρά μας στο spotlight.
So we front, to attract and keep the spotlight, deserved or not. But if everyone is so damn special and spotlight-worthy, the whole shit loses its point! So what do we do? We assign and cycle critics. The ones who applaud us, of course. And we're all too happy to scratch their backs in return. Με likes, "ωωωω κούκλα είσαι, χρυσή μου" κ.α.

Ε καί? Αυτό δεν γινόταν πάντα, σε μικρότερη ίσως κλίμακα? Έτσι λειτουργούμε, τον τροχό ανακάλυψες πάλι!
(Άσε που μερικές φορές μιζεριάζεις τους γύρω σου για να μη μιζεριάζεις μόνος σου, no wonder you like House) .

(On a side note:)
Είμαστε,μέσω facebook, όλοι ΜΜΕ.
Ρουφιανεύουμε,δημοσιεύουμε, σχολιάζουμε, παρουσιάζουμε (αυτο)διαφημίζουμε κ (αυτο)διαφημιζόμαστε.
Μπράβο μας. Από τη μία "δημοσιογράφοι, ρουφιάνοι, manipulators των Μαζών", και από την άλλη comments,tweets,shares on facebook mobile.

Με άλλα λόγια, (show)business as usual.

Ώπ, "ο χρήστης Mikro_lagoudaki σχολίασε την ανάρτησή σας", οπότε :

Thank you for your time, enjoy what's left of it! :)

Ain't it strange?

Before all this you were just a face in the crowd.
Then I picked you out and gave you traits and character and substance.
Then you did the same to me and so a journey began.
And now the journey ended, and we went back to being faces in the crowd.

A crowd disinterested, brooding, busy and boring.
For that is why it is a crowd, nothing distinctive it has.
Or inviting.

How about a supporting actor's take on the Holy War?

I woke up in the middle of a dream,
lying across a beach. Explosions started everywhere and glass supernovas appeared.
There was a man there,
standing in a shroud of mystery, just watching. Then he smiled.
So I ran that way,
but he disappeared like the devil may care.
And I kneeled and cried out,
And wings sprouted out of my back So I flew high, up above the clouds of confusion and into the sunshine.
But paradise was locked.Its gatekeeper,however was there, bathing in the sun and enjoying himself. And so I sat and chatted with Peter.
And he said unto me: Paradise is locked because you locked it up.How 'bout a beer?
So he told me stories, of dark bars and shady characters and damsels in all kinds of self-inflicted distress. In all of them he participated, but not in all of them was Good prevalent.For God had tired of warring with the devil over humans not interested in such a conflict. And so He went away, in solitude and they say he is playing with creation again, like a child building sand castles and he's happy again. But child, we need him, for he is our father and we miss him and care about him. And Lucifer, our uncle has been kind and giving but he is hollow. Or so he seems to me. And there is merit to discipline and spontaneity both. And no man or angel or beast should ever choose one. But they need both. For discipline wards of potential trouble and by decreasing the frequency of pleasures enhances their satisfaction and our appreciation of them is sharpened. And spontaneity is the cocoon of inspiration and primal satisfaction. That is why Good and Evil are still both at work, and it is not Evil's essence that is bad, rather its extremes and our overindulgence in it that makes it so. Father knew that, that is why he created Lucifer and was so proud of him and his enlightening man. But Lucifer took it too far, and Man was not wise with his knowledge. And so Father had to go to extremes to balance Lucifer's and Man's misbehavior.
But Man didn't quite like being mentored and Lucifer was a child spoiled.So God and Man and Lucifer warred. But Father grew tired, Man stopped caring and Lucifer won enough to be satisfied. And so the strife ended. But it is sad a story and a situation. Nevertheless, I had to get it off my chest, and so I did. For although I sided with our Father, I don't necessarily condemn all of Lucifer's deeds and teachings. It's just that he want too far...

Epic rap battles of history.

So pumped up
my dues paid,
fallen off the map
that I myself made.
Self-inflicted horrors
holding me down.
Smokes an' fucking mirrors
crashed an' dissolving all 'round.

Round n-th
buckle up for safety
kick it up to the tenth
goin' 180.
Ready or not,
here I come
an' I'm sizzling hot,
broke the dam
an' I'm pouring through.
Cover you all up, roll you into a mummy
Got you in a telephone booth,
calling out for mommy!

The Calm Breeze

It was a warm starlit night in Thernwille, and the Generous Cow was full of the village's rabble. So it took a while for the old man to be heard and a while longer for my attention to shift from the barmaid to his narrative.
See, I was young then and took little heed to stories of Old, I was more concerned with Tomorrow than Yesterday, if you catch my drift. In any case, Edwald "Graymane" was really outdoing himself while setting the atmosphere for his tale...
"...And a cool, calm breeze was caressing Mother Earth's bosoms while the rain that fell upon Her kissed them gently. So it was a night much like tonight that the tale of the 9 Crescents of the Moon began. The Dreadnaught, known then simply and by few as Edwin Vanderohe, was unaware of the trail he was a-traveling and so paid no heed to the name of the tavern that he chose to call home for the night.
But, perhaps he should have...
For names hold great power and the tavern was aptly named, Destiny's Crossroads.
Young Edwin instinctively noted the placing of the tables and assessed every patron deftly yet
diligently. This habit he picked up during his army tenure, along with his ornate plate armor. His right hand stayed near his pocket and his great axe while his left rested on the bar.
"What's it gonna be, stranger?", the dwarf said cheerfully although his eyes betrayed a seasoned fighter of the stout folk.
"Beer, though not the piss my kinsfolk drink. Get me some of your own staff"
This further intrigued the locals, for Edwin was short enough to be considered a tall dwarf, and his wide shoulders added to that impression. Still, his formidable physique and controlled movements made people weary of him and made them thought that maybe, just maybe, this Edwin lad could handle a couple of them dwarven ales they never could quite stomach."
This last comment was met with a series of challenges to the Cow's owner, another dwarf, to hit them with his strongest ale and undo the shaming of their kinsmen. After the serving, of which Edwald benefited greatly, he began anew, his raspy voice now captivating all in his audience.

Τίτλος? Ξέρω γω, τώρα ξερνάω, θα σου πω αργότερα

Καλη...μέρα. Επέστρεψα λοιπόν, κλασσικά έχοντας κάτι να ξεράσω.
...
Μούμπλε, μούμπλε...
...
Α!
Μπά, όχι, το 'χω ξαναπεί...
...
Α!

Λοιπόν.Έχουμε και λέμε.
Έχεις ποτέ βρεθεί σ' αυτή τη φάση αγανάκτησης που λες "δεν πάει άλλο, η κατάσταση είναι καρκίνωμα"?
Ναι, φαντάζομαι ότι έχεις.
Και τί έκανες?
Α! Θυμήθηκα!
Είπες "Τέλος, μέχρι εδώ. Το πάρτυ άρχισε να γίνεται χυδαίο, δώστε μου την κοιλότα μου να φύγω."
Όντως, ξέφυγες, ξέγραψες, προχώρησες.
Αλλά φίλε, και να πετύχε η χημειοθεραπεία, ήσουν άτυχος. Και τσουπ!
Να σου η μετάσταση.
Και τώρα?
Τώρα σφίγγουμε τα δόντια και λέμε, round two, bring it on!
Και πάλι κερδίζεις, στα σημεία.
Αλλά σε τρώει.
Γιατί δεν είσαι στο ρινγκ, με τους κανόνες.
Εδώ είναι ζωή, φιλαράκο.

Whorehouse blues.

Είμαστε όλοι ένα μάτσο πουτάνες.
Πουλιόμαστε κάθε μέρα, αν το σκεφτείς, αυτό θα πεί καρίερα: πουλάω τα προσόντα μου to the highest bidder, χωρίς να με νοίαζει το ποιόν του, μόνο το αν πληρώνει καλά.

Everything is business.
Worse yet, show business. Art is dead.
We buy and sell ourselves based on appearances."What would people think if i did that, I'll do that to get this reaction thereby increasing my status/approval/value by x".
All that matters is appearances and keeping them up.

Κατακεραυνώνονται οι πουτάνες αλλά οι σερβιτόρες, οι γραμματείς και οι πωλήτριες κάνουν σεβαστές δουλείες. Γιατί? Μήπως δεν είναι και αυτών το μοναδικό προσόν τους η σεξουαλικότητα και η δίαθεση να σου πουλήσουν μια τζούρα της?

Σας αφήνω τώρα, έχω πελάτη.