{"id":73175,"date":"2021-03-17T12:50:10","date_gmt":"2021-03-17T12:50:10","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/www.emst.gr\/?p=73175"},"modified":"2021-03-22T21:29:52","modified_gmt":"2021-03-22T21:29:52","slug":"bitha-anna","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.emst.gr\/en\/emst-for-health\/bitha-anna","title":{"rendered":"Bitha Anna"},"content":{"rendered":"

TEARS<\/h3>\n

inspired by Haris Epaminonda’s, Untitled #09p\/g <\/em><\/a><\/h5>\n

 <\/p>\n

A body loaded with layers of protection<\/p>\n

and yet it has never been so very naked\u2026<\/p>\n

So very small\u2026 So very little\u2026<\/p>\n

Few and the touching words touch to warm you up.<\/p>\n

Many the insignificant, the small, the indifferent,<\/p>\n

words of the Nobody and the Nowhere.<\/p>\n

Only the tears warm the face, they salt it, make it breathe, keep it alive.<\/p>\n

They follow the path from the signs that have been registered,<\/p>\n

that have become wrinkles \u2026<\/p>\n

They hug you and you feel the security<\/p>\n

that you always wanted.<\/p>\n

It is the only thing that belongs to you, that is yours\u2026.<\/p>\n

You are alone and you read the glances,<\/p>\n

while what you really want is to smell a flower,<\/p>\n

to dress your body with scents \u2026<\/p>\n

You see your image in the mirror.<\/p>\n

The naked, the small, the little is in front of you\u2026<\/p>\n

The ritual that allows you to access heroic performances,<\/p>\n

so you have been told, takes place in a Foucaultian heterotopia.<\/p>\n

Or is it utopia?<\/p>\n

When will illusion give way to the real, they wonder?<\/p>\n

You are alone, you and your tears\u2026\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

You know that this is the only truth and that is enough to be redeemed,\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

to be healed, to be healed, to care for\u2026 ..<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\n

BREATHS<\/h3>\n

inspired by Haris Epaminonda’s, Untitled #09p\/g <\/em><\/a><\/h5>\n
<\/h5>\n

She gave you her breath without thinking about the loss,<\/p>\n

the void, the impending death\u2026<\/p>\n

She thought she was living with yours, the real, the pure.<\/p>\n

Your breath and your word nourished her soul,<\/p>\n

nectar and ambrosia on her empty deathbed \u2026<\/p>\n

The pain on the lips, the head, the legs was remorsefully pleasurable,<\/p>\n

testified to the greatness of life,<\/p>\n

of a life she had forgotten belonged to her.<\/p>\n

Oblivion from the moment she gave breath to a person.<\/p>\n

Tragic!<\/p>\n

With you she learned or she just thought she was alive again.<\/p>\n

The pain, the fear, the nakedness, the exposure, the words, the truth<\/p>\n

gave her intense, mental, dreamy, orgasmic, cellular journeys\u2026<\/p>\n

Until the truth became unbearable, intolerable, oppressive.<\/p>\n

The biographical rupture inevitable.<\/p>\n

The familiar became foreign, the before confronted the after.<\/p>\n

Negotiations, daily deaths,<\/p>\n

deconstruction through melodies.<\/p>\n

But she gave you her breath and took yours.<\/p>\n

Sweet death for both of them on the bed of life\u2026<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\n

 <\/p>\n

ARK<\/h3>\n

inspired by Haris Epaminonda’s, Untitled #09p\/g <\/em><\/a><\/h5>\n

 <\/p>\n

Ambiguities, alternations, black-white, never gray.<\/p>\n

The day is unbearable, stressful, makes you sick.<\/p>\n

Its sounds cause rapid heartbeat, unbearable weight.<\/p>\n

No breath relieves the inside\u2026<\/p>\n

Discourse, far and wide rhetorics travel by air,<\/p>\n

they settle with the morning humidity on the leaves of the trees,<\/p>\n

they evaporate, they disappear as if they had never been said\u2026<\/p>\n

The signifiers and the signifieds change form,<\/p>\n

are confused, are separated.<\/p>\n

Nothing is meant\u2026<\/p>\n

Your demons are an ark for you,<\/p>\n

they meet you, play with you when daylight is lost.<\/p>\n

You dance with them, you undress in front of them\u2026<\/p>\n

They understand you, they accept you, they do not judge you\u2026<\/p>\n

You do this to yourself,<\/p>\n

this is how you are taught, programmed.<\/p>\n

Lost Amazon\u2026<\/p>\n

Dreams of survival in a state of full vigilance in the darkness\u2026<\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/em><\/h5>\n
\n

MEMORIES<\/h3>\n

inspired by Yorgos Gyparakis’, Nocturnal Landscape<\/em><\/a><\/h5>\n

These are moments when you freeze, paralyze,<\/p>\n

you may get lost.<\/p>\n

Your body and your heart can not forget the pain experienced,<\/p>\n

react ruthlessly, militarily.<\/p>\n

Attack, defense, does not matter\u2026<\/p>\n

The sound of the fast steps of an unknown night walker,<\/p>\n

the feeling of his hands on you, your voice calling for help,<\/p>\n

the invasion of privacy, the fear,<\/p>\n

the desperate search for security are disputed<\/p>\n

and… are majestically buried.<\/p>\n

Now and then they appear on the dream screen.<\/p>\n

You wake up with rage, you forget, you get over it.<\/p>\n

But you do not escape because your choices are here and they remind you,<\/p>\n

resulting from this\u2026<\/p>\n

The memory of a place,<\/p>\n

of a shelter that changed shape with a blank stare,<\/p>\n

is enough to dispel any expectation \u2026<\/p>\n

Unwanted you and your truth.<\/p>\n

It scares even though it is ignorant, they despise it,<\/p>\n

they are indifferent in the face of its majesty.<\/p>\n

Silence hurts you …<\/p>\n

You have reached (a place) beyond your power by carrying the cross of your truth,<\/p>\n

you can not just go back to what feels possible\u2026<\/p>\n

Their silence is a remedy eventually for you.<\/p>\n

Mental dystopia is marginalized only by familiar smells,<\/p>\n

like those that emerge from the soil after a sudden downpour,<\/p>\n

from the wet sand of a beach,<\/p>\n

from a wood that slowly burns, from a match that lights up,<\/p>\n

from the scent of a night flower or a loved one.<\/p>\n

Unique memories\u2026<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\n

MOUSE AT NIGHT<\/h3>\n

inspired by Yorgos Gyparakis’, Nocturnal Landscape<\/a><\/em><\/h5>\n

 <\/p>\n

You swallow the inadequacy of others,<\/p>\n

the way they generously offer it to you\u2026<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

How many times do you not fall into the trap of making it your own?<\/p>\n

Humanoids who should apologize to you they make you say thank you.<\/p>\n

How many times do you fall into the trap of being grateful,<\/p>\n

when you should be saying “Fuck you”?<\/p>\n

You understand others, their behavior, you have empathy.<\/p>\n

How many times do you not fall into the trap of setting yourself aside,<\/p>\n

when you should be in the spotlight?<\/p>\n

A mouse in an artistically constructed trap …<\/p>\n

It is a given that you are caught. You are a given.<\/p>\n

There, a rock to endure.<\/p>\n

In exchange for the vagueness, the approximate, the maybe, the granted …<\/p>\n

You are hovering, staggering, cold-hot.<\/p>\n

The words that are articulated a prerequisite for you,<\/p>\n

but you win the silence.<\/p>\n

Will the coming end give birth to a truth,<\/p>\n

a rudiment with responsibility and free speech?<\/p>\n

The night is your friend.<\/p>\n

The thoughts in the dark, the most creative of your life.<\/p>\n

Thank the night, that\u2019s when the real, the interesting, the full,<\/p>\n

the sweetest \u201cFuck yous\u201d are being told\u2026<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\n

ALL PARTICIPANTS<\/a><\/h3>\n