cedomasoon

[cedomasoon]

Standing Measuring the distance Allowing danger to dictate the next move

Swaying Considering the options Allowing certitude to sink in

Moving Gathering the intention Allowing the core to contract

Move back One leg up Chest forward Leg in the air Hands pulling back Foot pushes the ground For the splendid view For the lack of gravity For the joyous leap I shall resign from any other feeling and I shall give permission to the grand impossibility of success to vanish Resigning from casual expectations Surrendering remorselessly to chance Knowing the certainty I seeked Is found into this feeling

#mariaflip #cedoma #poetry #cedoma movement #greek #greek poetry #maria flip #cedoma soon #cedomamovement

[cedomasoon]

Ready for battle

Deceived by naïveté

The inevitable inability

Of standing your ground

Creeps through your cells

One word you dare say

What if next time

You deliver two?

To navigate the humiliation

Overcoming the innate

Disasters of your upbringing

Surprised

But how could you?

For the nth time

Defeated

They didn’t prepare you for battle

And now, an adult child

Crying your eyes out

Desperately wishing

For the words to survive

For your tongue to untangle

For your lungs to be oxygenated

So to transform your voice

Into a thunder so rambunctious

Fitted to burn the hair of his body

And leave him naked and alone

As a deformed baby

Moments before

His final breath

Falling down Kaiadas

#mariaflip #poetry #cedoma #cedoma movement #Greek #greek poetry #feminism #this asshole

[cedomasoon]

I am waiting for you to say something that will transform how I feel. I am waiting for you to say I'm sorry. I am waiting for you to come to my door and say you were wrong and that you understand. I am waiting for you to pick up the phone. I am waiting for you to call. I am waiting for you to be a different person. I am waiting for me to stop feeling cheated. I am waiting for the flashes of terror to wear off. I am waiting for my PTSD to cool off.

Used. A joke. Pathetic. Crazy. Played. Where is the fun? Where is the love? Where is the peace? I feel the pressure. I feel the void. I feel the madness. I feel the pain. Actual physical pain. I feel the anger.

You didn't know. How could you? All the heartache, all the abandonment, all the struggle, all the loneliness.

You don't know how to love me. You don't know me. It's not you. You are just another clueless guy. You just stick to what you know. You just went along for the ride. Like they all do. Just a fun time with a weird girl that you'll dump when things get messy or when you don't feel like it anymore.

And I. I am just sitting here. Burnt. Trying to make sense of all of this. And I feel drained. I feel drained. I feel drained. I feel drained. I feel drained. I feel drained. I feel drained. I feel drained.

drained

drained

drained

drained

drained

drained

drained

drained

I wish I could type until this feeling ceased to exist. I wish you could make it go away. But you won't. No one will. It's me and myself and I again. With a suitcase in one hand and the work on the other. Just work. Just write. Just work. Just push. Push. Push. Push and this feeling will go away. And this pussy will heal. And this body won't hurt.

I hope you had fun.

#mariaflip #cedomasoon #cedoma #poetry #cedoma movement #maria flip #love #greece #athens

[cedomasoon]

SINGLE USE ITEMS

For straws and cuttlery

For condoms and napkins

For qtips and coffee cups

Along with your heart

Single use love. Temporary

Whilst the speedometer starts counting

If time was static

That single use

Eternal and identical

Would be enough to rout out

Climate change and fear of death

Without that frigid look

Omen of devastating mornings

Numbs the survival instict

Mocks the angst

Mirages. Deserted. Dumping grounds of emotions.

Your blurred dreams of future exaltation

Transforming into environmental nightmares

Mingling with broken hearts.

They echo in empty space; adjoining

all that we once wanted but now haunt you

#mariaflip #cedomasoon #poetry #cedoma #maria flip #love #berlin #climate change #universos paralelos

[cedomasoon]

S Bahn affinities

Part 3

It’s been two hours. The vodka is almost gone. There’s a pile of cigarettes around my feet. I feel tired. The darkness feels hefty. The cold is shrill. The girl is not coming back. All I am left with is this suitcase, an empty bottle of vodka and the dreary thoughts that have been accumulating in my head for the past couple of hours. One last cigarette to seal the destiny of this undertaking. Detective Maria is clocking out of this stake out and clocking in to this Saturday evening. The apartment doesn’t feel so terrible anymore. The warm velvet couch, the cozy bathtub, the fresh linens, some warm tea. I’ll grab a sandwich, I’ll take a shower, I’ll watch something dumb and till I know it the evening will have passed. I will not feel so alone. I will let myself go, slightly tipsy but content, into the maze of dreams. I will trust my shut eyes to lead me back to this moment when I first saw this girl on the train. I will let myself feel that enthusiasm. I will observe her again and I will follow her again, out of the wagon and into the city, to get to that back yard. There she will meet her lover. He will be waiting for her on that same seat that I was sitting. They will smile at each other and they will kiss. They will move to the back of the yard where some trees are and I will be the witness of their love. I will hide there, behind the closed doors of the backyard, standing still, feeling the sweat on the handle of my suitcase. Staring at them undress precisely, avoiding excess bareness, they will execute this union accurately, like they’ve done this before. This public ritual will probably be part of their love language. It will have started way before they met. In a train wagon or even at home, where she will have been touching herself and reading his passionate texts about all the things he will do to her when they would meet. So when they meet, she will already be wild with yearning and he will fulfill some of the promises he will have made to her, placing her in that uncomfortable setting, utilizing her built up desire so he can get off in this dark and moist corner of the city. It won’t last long. And it will be quiet. He will push and grunt in silence and she will maintain the regality of her stature, with her headscarf perfectly in place and her gossamer figure vibrating in the pulsations of his despondent thrusts. The only proof of them ever making love in that yard would be a used condom that missed the trash can and I, the witness. She will pull up her tights. He will put his penis back in, through the zipper that freed them in the first place. She will adjust her jacket. He will be looking for irregularities in his appearance. They will not kiss. He will go out first, like exiting an Aldi. She will follow, as ripply as ever. Meanwhile I will hide in the mezzanine, flushed and ready for my next venture into the mazes of Morpheus, waiting on the next quixotically degenerate to take me deep in the land of the forbidden dreams.

#mariaflip #cedomasoon #cedoma #cedoma movement #love #short story #sbahn #berlin #story telling #blog

[cedomasoon]

S bahn affinities

Part 2

It’s six o’clock and it’s cloudy outside. I’ve been travelling for eight hours and I feel so sore. I am really annoyed by the fact that I will have to walk another ten minutes to get home. Like the rest of the trip was ok to handle, but these ten last minutes are goingto finish me. Those and also the three floors I have to climb, because in this forsaken city there are no elevators. I am almost there. For a moment at the train station I thought that I would have to change trains or maybe take the metro, but no, just line seven, through the center and in less than thirty minutes I will be home. The city center looks dull. I don’t see a lot of people on the streets. On the contrary the train is getting full. It slows down again and a bunch of people get off. The short haired lady doesn’t look away from her phone this time. Full of tattoos and wearing a Google watch, she is now completely taken by her scrolling. I am not sure she is aware of the tension on her co passenger’s phone. Her fingers are going mad on the screen, while her legs are moving up and down like crazy. Her lips are red and very full. Her face structure is intense. It reminds me of some models. If she was as skinny as her fellow traveler, maybe she could be a model. Perhaps she could be a plus size model now. Mesmerizing, alluring. These are the words that pop in my head as we approach the next stop. She is all flushed by now. I can barely see her hand anymore, it is lost between the fleshes of her thighs. She is still texting vigorously. Her face is more serious and her voluptuous lips are wet. I am so intrigued. What is she writing? Who is she writing to? She seems young, but I cannot tell if she is a teenager or maybe in her early twenties. I can’t tell. Her skin is fresh like a crisp breeze on the Alps. Her outfit doesn’t fit in any particular age group. According to her stylistic choices she could be fifteen or even fifty five.

[cedomasoon]

S bahn affinities

Part 1

I see her entering the train. She is moving fast and vigorously. She has a red scarf around her head tightly placed over her hair and ears. Her mask is on her chin and she doesn’t seem to care that she entered the train. Everybody else is wearing their masks and just wait, indifferent towards the people coming in and out, for their destination to arrive. She goes up and down the wagon, I understand that she is looking for a sit but I do not move my bag from the seat. I kind of enjoy the Covid convention that we don’t share the double seats anymore. It’s kind of ok not to pick up your shit every time someone enters the train. She looks at me with a face that I cannot decode, I smile at her but my mask doesn’t really let things go further than that. It’s unfair because her face is there for me to observe but mine is almost completely covered. We are sitting across each other partially veiled and indifferently communicating with each other. Her scarf is red, along with her jacket and she is wearing a pair of white pool slippers. The black tights are covering her short legs. There’s something very sexual in her aura. She looks at me straight in the eyes with an audacity that transcends the conventional borderlines of young women.

The train is almost full and I am really hot. My bags are heavy and my coat is out of season. I can feel the sweat accumulating in my armpits and my back is burning. She seems flushed as well. The train slowly stops; the man from the speakers announces the train stop and the doors open. A short haired woman sits next to her. She is skinny and she almost feels uncomfortable by the lack of mask of her co passenger. By the time the doors close they are both on their phones. The contrast is evident. There’s some short of apathy in the essence of the short haired skinny woman and the carefully covered chubby young woman. She smiles sporadically while she is texting and her cheeks are bright red. I am pretty sure she is texting with a lover or a boyfriend. Her body language exudes flirting vibes. Her right hand is stuck between her legs, right over her inner thighs. She smiles some more while she moves her legs in synchronicity, up and down; up and down; in a rhythm that doesn’t match the reality around her. Train slows down again; the man announces the next stop; the short haired woman lifts her head from the phone, our sights are meeting each other for a minute and I choose to look outside the window.

#mariaflip #cedomasoon #cedoma #cedoma movement #maria flip #short story #sbahn #berlin #women #obsession #trainspotting #observers #voyeur #stories #georges bataille

[cedomasoon]

A very well kept secret

Appears in the darkest hours of the night

To caress the sadness away

Coming in peace

Never asking for much

Love is the currency and she is rich

She comes at night

Takes the angst away

Hush hush, she keeps her presence

While people try to peek through the shades

As a reaction, she hydrates the void with soda

And with unspoken acts of tenderness

Surreptitious love

Confidential fornication

Covert tenderness

Furtive non verbal communication

I haven’t slept in days

Thinking of her

Sneaking around in stranger’s bed

Consuming precious love coins

Dipped in sweat and tears

Diluted under the shower

I love her

Will she ever know?

[cedomasoon]

Part 4

She was a wild young woman, not so far back, with dreams and hopes and exciting stories to tell. Now she can hardly remember how it is to be drunk. To be careless and self distractive is something of the past. Her life is on track, just like the train. Going from Piraeus to Kifisia, same steady tracks for the last 60 years or so. An ever changing route travelling through changing landscapes, that’s what she is. Only love. That’s the last fortress untouched by her becoming an adult. Falling in love with the unexpected, with the man that is going to tell her the same words in a new tone, with a slight sparkle in his vibe and:

-Hey.

-Hey.

A man. A slim and slender man, going up the escalator as she is going down. Strong jaw line appearing under his lilac mask. A black hoodie and a buzz cut. How strange, the games that the mind plays. Maybe her manifesting the man of her dreams only moments ago, just turned the cogwheels of faith and now a friendly nod, a smile and a “Hey” from this hot stranger. She just has to keep on dreaming, keep on dressing up her destiny. Not for sale. She is smiling under her starry night mask. What a cute moment. As she is going down, back on the ground, lost in her thought: “This little angel of hope said hey”. She hey-ed him back, at least. Still sharp. Maybe this is the beginning of a cute love story. Maybe she will see him again, here, across the stadium, smoking a cigarette. She will approach him then. Say hi, ask him for a fag and maybe flirt a bit. She’s got it. Like riding a bike, all coming back, fast, the confidence of a clueless 20 year old girl. Cute and cool and carefree. Love. That’s what’s left to bring her back from the dull. A hand on her shoulder, it’s him.

-Hey. Hold on. Hi, I just can’t keep on moving without talking to you first.

Why are my eyes heavy. I can’t open my eyes. I am in pain. This is pain. This is so confusing. Mary mother of Jesus. Help. Can I even speak? Try, just try to speak. Am I just groaning? Is that my sound? I am in pain. Everything hurts. Am I really speaking? Can anybody hear me? I am in pain. Help. Help.

-Sweetie, sweetie. Oh my God you are awake. It’s me, mom. Don’t move. It’s all good, you are good now.

-Mom, mommy. I am in pain mom. Where am I?

-I know sweetie. But you are ok now. You are safe, you are in the hospital. Don’t move. I will get the doctor.

-Mom, don’t go! What is going on?

-Oh baby, you’ve been assaulted.

#mariaflip #cedoma #cedomasoon #cedoma movement #maria flip #short story #part 4 #love #assault

[cedomasoon]

Part 3

Some homeless guy is screaming on the back ground. He is not making any sense, or maybe he is? In this insane reality, everything is making sense and at the same time it doesn’t. Fainéant steps are moving her towards the escalators. She is going to move down now. Leave this relieving height of the bridge to get back on the ground. A feeling of liberation submerges from her guts as she finds herself on this bridge. Whatever happens under that bridge is another story. The world keeps on moving in its own rhythm, but on the overpass she sets the pace. Closer to the sky, less busy, this bridge transforms into a parallel universe of car free and carefree walking transportation.

And what if, what if the moment she steps on the escalator her destiny changes forever? What if these tiles that have been touched by her feet a million times before, lead her to her destiny: a young man, tall and slender, just as she likes them; skinny to the bone and muscled, tight nipples and some baby hair on the belly button; a strong jaw line, piercing eyes and lips like cherries? Is this a lot for a woman to ask? A gentle guy, rough on the edges but soft in the heart, to look her in the eyes? How long has it been since a man looked her in the eyes? This look that takes life away from you, a petit mort, a moment of transcendence. So much yoga, she even quit smoking and she drinks tea. So to be able to grasp this moment: the look. The look of love and Sade’s voice. Maybe some candles and a 90’s music video lighting. Where are those moments? Where is she? Again and again over this bridge, down the street, by the stadium and then again by the tracks, the old neoclassical building that is now a music school and then towards the power company, the chocolate factory on the left and then the boulevard. She is going to be home again, to heat up yesterday’s lentil soup and binge watch “The queen’s gambit”, again. Life gets so predictable growing older.

#mariaflip #cedomasoon #cedoma #short story #love #athens #pireaus #greece

[cedomasoon]

Part 2

People evade one another when the wagon doors open and they make their way. Little ants, one following the other, carrying leather bags and plastic purses, concentrated on their unaltered route to slavery. Step by step the escalators trace their way to the footbridge. Moving up, a glimpse of a breeze slips under her shirt and produces a massive erection of body hair. A momentary relief from the murkiness of the afternoon; the ablution from the stinky breaths of the fellow passengers, which seems to stick on the skin while travelling. The view from the bridge makes her stop for just a moment, to steal a little moment just to daydream upon this cute vista or maybe snap a picture. There’s a two hour gap between now and her next class. There’s no reason for rushing. Her trousers are dancing around her legs and her bag is bouncing on her lap; still sweating under a sudden stream of light and on ahead, the stadium. Red and hefty and ugly like all manmade things. Red steel and cement combined with ugly posters and logos, it just stands there. Years and years of fans and players passed through here, going in and out, celebrating, forgetting about their problems and screaming at a rolling ball and a couple dozen extremely rich men. The emblem of a developing society, the pylon of fun activities, the people’s opium, the masqueraded mafia’s cover up: football. She never really felt the excitement of the run down ball. There’s a certain appeal that this rubber object has, one that she never felt and never understood. Why can’t someone enjoy the piercing sound of skates on the ice? How come nobody is interested in the athletic performances of ice skaters? Aren’t they creatures that defy gravity? Don’t they achieve otherworldly athletic achievements? And the music; isn’t it just better to listen to that music than to get lost in this chaotic mass of canaille screaming? The sound of ice being torn, the heavy breathing, fabric rasping with lycra. One day she will get to find someone to share her love of ice skating. Maybe not here, in this part of town, maybe in another part of town. Not even in this town if she had to think about it twice.

Why is she here anyway? Why does she choose to stay here? 34 years. Born and raised in this city, down by the port. A proud resident, that’s what she is. Irrevocable in her sense of home, although alienated by her own tribe. Four sisters and one brother. Who on their right mind would do that: raise six kids in the city, in an apartment, piled up, six kids on top of two parents all crumbled up on the ground floor. And then of course, the mistress behind it all: Granny. And her son. The Uncle. Such a typical sample of family history: the sister with the family, the unrepentant bachelor brother living with his mother; the brother in law: a simple, hardworking plowman. All of them surrounded – or better said surrounding- six defenseless children being raised by themselves. It could even be considered as a romantic affair by some. Fast forward to today, the next generation. Her brother is gone, a sailor, floating somewhere in the Indian sea; older sister in the country side, adopted the plow and a plowman herself, they’ve had four young children; twin sister travelling the world with MSF; younger sister number one finishing a master’s degree in Mathematics in London, engaged to a seemingly affable young man; and finally, younger sister number two working in shipping, engaged to be married to an accoutered lawyer. And her, midway through the family’s reproductive agenda. Still young, her father insists, ready to have a family of her own, her mother emphasizes. She is surrounded by her siblings - older and younger- all settled and unified and happy, making mama proud, fulfilling their destiny, or at least the female ones. Her older brother joined her in the role of the pariahs of the family. The ones who decided to fly solo for some time. Her brother seems content. At least the two times a year she gets to see him. He is constantly traveling, he never talks about his personal life and he dodges any pressure to even talk about having a family. And he is a man. He is out of the pressure point, geographically and mentally. He bought a house in the Philippines and spends quite some time in Buenos Aires as well, forty years old now, nobody cares anymore. There are already two grandchildren in the picture and the younger sister number one is getting pregnant soon –feeling the pressure of her eggs growing older by the minute. “Young eggs, healthy babies” mother insists telling everybody.

#mariaflip #cedomasoon #short story #athens #pireaus #train

[cedomasoon]

Part 1

“Is it Ravel? Maybe it is Ravel.” The sound that bubbles out of her headphones is mesmerizing. The sun is shining and it’s still warm. Allegedly there will be a heat wave coming next week. Indian summer he said on his last message. Well, most likely 60th of August, as some friends would say. She is wearing a khaki pair of trousers, in another time it used to be linen. It’s perfect for this time of the year, unfolding until the mid cuff, some buttons on the side. She paired it with a purple shirt dress. No sleeves. It’s still very hot for sleeves. She thought of her students. Last time one of them saw her armpits “Oh, you have boy armpits Miss”, she remarked astonished. She walks out of the train wagon. It was really hot inside. It’s this magic moment of the day that the heat reaches its maximum; it must be 30 degrees and 90 % humidity, she is sweating and her skin is sticky. Maybe a sea breeze coming from Mikrolimano would save her from the dreadful atmosphere, a spate of low barometric. The station is not full. It’s the times that she is going around, right before or right after the rush hour. Some old men, wearing white masks – what is it with old people and white masks? It’s like somebody distributed a million white masks to the elderly. They all wear the exact same white mask; mostly looking like a sanitary pad, but the one they used to wear back in the ‘50s. Maybe it’s that; the conviction that white underwear is the best. You can see when it’s dirty; you can bleach it and boil it, it will still look the same.

There is no one remotely interesting on the route from her apartment to the station; no body interesting looking on the 30’ ride either. Strangers stopped sharing moments in public. The settle and polite exchange of erotic vibes that might occur between two people has vanished; a stare into one’s eyes, a timid smile and then maybe a polite Good morning. All is gone. All that is left are the truck drivers blowing kisses and being vulgar from the safety of their tin kingdoms; old perverts, cat calling while innocent passer bys suppress the retching reaction to a sloppy air kiss; and maybe a fifty year old businessman, taking advantage of the mass amounts of alcohol in his body, brave for a moment, demanding to buy a woman a drink or simply feeling entitled of their company. Everything else is lost. The hard task of flirting is left for the two little holes on the head filled with colors and sparkle. The eyes chico, they never lie. All the rest is buried under this god forsaken mask.

[cedomasoon]

MEMORY

In moments of great pain, as well as in moments when a human is faced with death, the mind becomes a container that is suffocatingly filled with loved ones, unfulfilled dreams, lost years, successes, mistakes, repentance. Inside this container we put a camera. Voyeurs of an insidious evaluation of life, of a reminiscence. There is no association, the data follow their own premise and jump from emotion to history and back. Memories are placed by the brain in different spots. Some are buried deep, some remain on the surface, some are lost forever and some change shape. Smells, locations, images, touches, bring to the conscious moments from our lives. The association has to do with the file and not the will. Many times we ask to recall something that is not coming, something that was once important to us, while various times we are faced with childish and outrageous memories that we do not realize have reached the surface. Our deepest wounds are deeply hidden, the pain turns into anger and focuses on people and situations that play the role of a shield, keeping the wounds hidden, and the emotions under control. Faces and situations appear, bringing back the living and the dead, the past and the future. We place this middle space between life and death in a bowl and observe it with the pleasure and agony that we imagine we will feel in the same space: suffocating and liberating.

#maria flip #cedoma #thoughts #memory #notes #cabaret catatonique

[cedomasoon]

Life is full of frustrations. Love is the sweetest. All these small details that constitute the mosaic of love, the smells, the stupid jokes, the common dreams, the absolute indifference to logic and the magical belief that together we will succeed. It is the logical continuation of the fraternal relationship. It comes to replace it.

#mariaflip #maria flip #cedoma #cabaret catatonique #dust to dust #notes #thoughts

[cedomasoon]

A subtle reminder

Keep the pie and eat it too

Guess what?

I want that too

So who's the pie

And who's keeping it

And then at last

Who's eating it

The repetition of a ritual

An old scheme of sort

Where I pretend to remember your taste

And you pretend it's ok to be apart

I don't want to lead you i

If I wanted to I'd be

under your bed sheets right now

Guffaws and disappointment

But not me

Happy to get to like you repeatedly

Bitter periodically for being alone

But not lonely

Fingers and jeans

We'll meet again

Where the heat of the summer

Intersects with the memory

And the silent expectations

Let's run away together, shall we?

#mariaflip #cedomasoon #cedoma #poetry #cedoma movement #maria flip #cedomamovement #cedoma soon #summer

[cedomasoon]

Disorientated anxiety

Focusing on the person

Instead of the circumstances

Distracted functionality

Awaiting the departure

Instead of the arrival

Deconstructed personality

Surrendering to the emotions

Instead of the reality

My only wish

To confide in you

Flesh to flesh

For the illusion created

I did, I confess

You helped a bit

But it was me

Carrying the torch

In the tunnel of dreams

Still confused

Still nervous

Still excited

Still strong

Still

Lungs filled with air

Rhythm: frantic

Sleeplessness

You too?

Together though?

A naughty wink

Born by substances

Raised by fantasies

Hello?

No plans for tonight

And the dusk is heavy

Every word charged

With doubts

Pointless pondering

Avoidance

Dettachment

Leftovers of a fun week

Crumbles of indiference

Unfolded stories

That were long forgotten

All this city around me

Chokes me to death

Your absence, mine

The distance is established

Although not yet imposed

I didn't kiss you goodbye

And it burns me

[cedomasoon]

A foster hug to hide

Ignore the world

A room of one's own

Private but bright

Constructed by boundaries

Decorated by memories

Mended to let the mind breathe

This is it

The space you carve

Wrapping your arms around your shoulders

Whispering I love you

#mariaflip #cedomasoon #cedoma #poetry #cedoma movement #maria flip #love #ywa