WORDS-IMAGES

23.06.04

At first, I thought of posting the lyrics to an anti-war song. But when I turned the radio on, I listened to this great song of Don Mc Lean destroyed by Madonna. Maybe it doesn’t have much to do with what I want to describe but no other song could describe my bittersweet feelings better. Afterwards, I thought of posting a poem that I wrote a few months ago. I post here both. We can’t be miserly now, can we?

AMERICAN PIE

A long, long time ago I can still remember how that music used to make me smile and I knew if I had my chance that I could make those people dance and maybe they’d be happy for a while but February made me shiver with every paper I delivered, bad news on the doorstep, I couldn’t take one more step, I can’t remember if I cried when I read about his widowed bride but something touched me deep inside, the day, the music, died. So… Bye bye, Miss American Pie drove my Chevy to the levy but the levy was dry an then good ol’ boys were drinkin whiskey and rye singin this will be the day that I die, this will be the day that I die. Did you write the book of love and do you have faith in God above, if the Bible tells you so, and do you believe in rock ‘n’ roll, can music save your mortal soul and can you teach me how to dance real slow? Well I know that you’re in love with him cuz I saw you dancing in the gym you both kicked off your shoes and I dig those rhythm and blues. I was a lonely teenage bronkin buck with a pink carnation and a pick up truck but I knew I was out of luck, the day, they music, died. I started singin… Now for ten years we’ve been on our own and moss grows fat on a rollin stone but that’s not how it used to be, when the jester sang for the king and queen in a coat he borrowed from James Dean and a voice that came from you and me, oh and while the king was looking down, the jester stole his thorny crown the courtroom was adjourned, no verict was returned, and while Lenin read a book on Marx, the quartet practiced in the park and we sang dirges in the dark, the day, the music, died. We were singin… Helter Skelter in a summer swelter the birds flew off with a fallout shelter, eight miles high and fallin fast, it’s the land that fell on the grass the players tried for a forward pass with the jester on the sidelines in a cast, now the half-time air was sweet perfume while the sergeants played a marching tune we all got up to dance oh but we never got the chance oh as the players tried to take the field the marching band refused to yield do you recall what was revealed, the day, the music, died. We started singin… Oh and there we were all in once place, a generation lost in space with no time left to start again, so come on, Jack be nimble, Jack be quick, Jack Flash sat on a candle stick because fire is the devil’s only friend, oh and as I watched him on the stage, my hands were clinched in fists of rage, no angel born in hell could break that satan’s spell and as the planes climbed high into the night to light the sacrificial right I saw satan laughing with delight, the day, the music, died. He was singin… I met a girl who sang the blues and I asked her for some happy news but she just smiled and turned away, I went down to the sacred store where I’d heard the music years before but the man there said the music wouldn’t play and in the streets the children screamed, the lovers cried, and the poets dreamed but not a word was spoken, the church bells all were broken and the three men I admire most, the Father, Son, and the Holy Ghost, they caught the last train for the coast, the day, the music, died, and they were singin… They were singin… Bye bye, Miss American Pie drove my Chevy to the levy but the levy was dry an them good ol’ boys were drinkin whiskey and rye singin this will be the day that I die.

Red

Love has no red.
Red is the war on the roofs of the houses.
Peace has no blue.
Agreements are signed at night.
But the soldiers do not fall down.
Life and death in the same dish.
Television at full blast.
Love has no red,
It is the blood on the eight o’ clock news.
Ladies and Gentlemen, good night.

Nikolas Perdikares
October 2003

Pain can be turned into a song or poem. But anger becomes anger again. I was talking to a friend one day. He told me something very wise: ‘You have to let your anger go. You are furious.’.
I answered him: ‘Yes, I am, and I am very happy about that, because I know that I will do something great one day with this anger.’. He smiled and said: ‘You fool, don’t you know that we can never turn something bad into something good?’.
For some reason, people’s anger cannot be ‘evaporated’. It spreads like smog over the skies of the cities. When the whole thing is blurred, then there’s only music to direct us.


GOOD THINGS vs BAD THINGS

No matter how strange it might seem to you, I was really happy that Alexandra disagreed with me. Someone disagrees at last! Forgive me for the paradoxical way of bidding you good morning but I wanted to be more understandable, not to persuade Alexandra that I’m right but simply because I wanted to initiate discussion.
All right, I will use an example which is a little disgusting. Trying to turn something bad into something good is like trying to make the most of your excrement by spreading it on bread instead of praline-spread. You get rid of useless shopping by doing this but your excrement will always taste horrible, no matter what you do to persuade yourself for the opposite. Isn’t it then better to let excrement end up in the drain? You can buy a jar of orange jam or of true praline-spread for your slice of bread. Now there is also an example according to which dung can be turned into compost. But this can be of use to you only if you are (if you decide to be) a plant. Right?
I apologize for the disgusting thing but I really wanted to say that crap.