9 days

My, how time flies. 33% of my break is already a part of the past. Oh well; I think that my mind is in enough turmoil at this moment that it could sprout a fine post.

So, a couple things that three months in Edinburgh changed, off the top of my head.

--The coffee isn't as good as I remembered it and hungered for, during the cold days up in scotland. It's more like "Frappe? It's ok I guess but I do miss the mocha from Beanscene to be perfectly frank." Now, that's blasphemy. And I should know, if frappe was a religion I'd be its Pontifex Maximus.

--For a moment I thought I was getting shortsighted. Then I figured I was descending into a paranormal scenario where everybody's face was getting blurry. And then it struck me. The law against smoking in Greek cafes was lifted. Needless to say, you need headlights to move around in crowded cafes. A foghorn would also come in handy.

--After familiarizing with a country where cars drive differently, I'm now in the state where all cars go in the wrong direction. Whenever I have to cross a road like the proverbial chicken, my mind goes into reboot. Do they come from right to left? Left to right? Left to left? (is that even possible?) I constantly have to be with someone so they can kick me in the head (it functions as a ctrl-alt-del).

--Everybody's jealous of my Edinburgh hoodie. And by everybody I mean you, Kalpaki :-p

--I'd forgotten how disgustingly degradingly decadently comfortable my bedroom's armchair is. Drop a marblestone over that baby and let me Rest In Peace on it when I croak it.

-I find myself hating my motorcycle, loathing my helmet and detesting the fact that I can't walk wherever I want, in contrast with the city centre in Edina.

--Healthy Advice got even better while I was missing. Go over there and eat a sandwich, in the centre of Thessaloniki. I said it before and I'll say it again: If there was a country called Sandwichland, their cheesebread would be on the one-dollar bill.

--They say "Change is inevitable". Clearly they never heard of the ticket dispensers in the city buses. As you can guess, the first 0.30 ticket I bought costed me 1 euro.

--I fell in love with Scotland. It had me at "Welcome to Edinburgh". But Greece is something else. It's home. It's people shouting and cars honking and beautiful eyes that say "I'm happy you are here".

That's it for now. A recap when I get back.

Consta... "Computo ergo sum" ...ntine

You must remember this, a kiss is still a kiss...

I got in my romantic mood tonight, after watching Casablanca. So I wrote a little flash fiction, barely 500 words long. Just a little riff. And it has nothing to do with Bogart or Bergman, I just really love that movie. If you haven't seen it, believe me when I say that you must.

BUS STOP

“We’ll always have Paris”, a dead man once said and became immortal. Sitting on that cold bus stop, the meaning of the words grabs you by the throat.

The buses come and go, come and go. You don’t care now. The one she was on, is far gone. Now you just look at them come and go, come and go.

“We’ll always have Paris,” you mutter as you’re sitting there, for the third time ever. Third time’s the charm, they say. Not this time.

Brush off the rest of the people. You two were alone, both times. Brush off the sun too. It was late.
Last passenger of the fleeing night.

She’s not there now obviously; now she’s too far away and beyond reach. Perhaps that was the magic. But then again, her ghost is right by your side, the memory of her aroma, more vivid than anything else around.

You two, sitting on the cold bench in the dark, while the city reveled in the distance.

So, what do you see?

Her face, of course. Who could forget beauty when it stared at them in the face? Her eyes, half-hidden behind strands of amber. Do you remember what you said?

“In your eyes I see the icy sea.”

She smiled. What did she say?

“Do they look so cold to you, then?”

Yes. She only had to look at you once; you took a plunge and were lost in the frost.

They also looked cold the second time. Her tears were snowflakes.

A bus is coming. Will she leave? Not yet.

While you are still sitting there, looking at her ghost – your ghosts – buses come and go in an endless loop. One of them took her away, twice.

The first time, she went straight to the back and waved through the window. Her hand was freezing but her smile said she didn’t care.

That smile was saying “I’ll see you soon.”

The second time, she rushed to the back once more. She waved; this time her fingers were tucked in her new gloves. She smiled.

That smile was saying “I’ll see you again.”

What was it that you told her, when the day eventually turned into night? When that stranger with the saddest eyes you ever beheld–and that was enough– became Her, what did you say, when her bus was almost in front of you?

“I’ll kiss you now, and you decide if I’m going to miss or not.”

She didn’t answer. Not with words.

And after that longest and shortest week of your lives finally came at an end in the headlights of a bus, you said the same, trying to remain jovial like a cursed jester.

“I’ll kiss you now, and you decide if I’m going to miss or not.”

Did she answer this time? She did.

She said, “Please, don’t miss.”

Consta... " I'll be home in a week ^^ " ...ntine

A Social Experiment

A 2-weeks old flash story for you all. Any negative critique will be discarded with a laugh, any praise will be printed and placed on my wall of triumphs. (Just kidding, it's a wall of fame)

http://www.sff.gr/forums/index.php?showtopic=10835&pid=132427&st=0&#entry132427

Consta... "wait for it..." ...ntine

The Light at the end of the Tunnel

Remember three weeks ago, in my last post, when I said "I'm starting a new book tomorrow?" No? Well just go take a look, it's right there... Anyway, I finished that book three hours ago. It's there now, complete, whole, ready. A newborn novel, my baby :-)
Well, not ready-ready, I mean, it is the first draft and will need a good edit, but it's been written.
"Write with your heart, edit with your head." they say.
I usually write with word processors but I'm willing to follow that this time.
I'm sure that you will get some laughs out of this book. It's fantasy...vaguely... but mostly it's a postmodernist, metafictional satire... Yeah. I know how pompous that sounds. Let's just say a comic fantasy with a serious twist in narration.
It's called OMNISCIENT - The Tales of Bob. It is in English, my very first novel in the English language.
What a November... I'm so tired right now...

Consta... "saw the end at the light of the tunnel and it wasn't an oncoming train" ... ntine

For Shame!

Now, I know that I've been MIA for a couple weeks but there are so many things going on that logging them too would kill off what little free time I've got. I'm starting a new book tomorrow (yes, AGAIN, bite me) and I'm trying to focus my energy there. I'll just feel solace in the fact that none cares that this blog gets updated less often than the Farmer's Almanac.

Yesterday, I felt like I was 13 again. No, I'm not talking about pimples or hair in weird places, I'm talking about the infinite shame that one feels when asked something from his tutor and catches himself not paying attention.
I mean, when I was a teacher last year, I kept catching wee ones not paying attention then went on to ask them WHY weren't they paying attention.

Mental note to self. DON'T DO IT.
Or at least do it and be as cool as Kevin was yesterday about it.

So, we are writing an excercise, a short story centered on dialogue. We've got 45 minutes to write it.
Long story short, the tutor says "aight, pencils down please" and summarily asks one of the postgrads to read her own. I must admit, I was half paying attention to her words, half-looking at the end of my story which needed just two more lines that i HAD to write before they were flushed down the void of "Shit-I-forgot-it-land".

I wrote the two lines then went back to listening to Kirsty. Obviously I had no idea what she was talking about, apart from her eloquent and composed writing.
So, then, she stops and the tutor summarily aims the proverbial gun at me.
"Dinos what did you think of Kirstie's story?"
This must have been the longest silence in the history of my years since junior high school.

Maybe 8 seconds of vocal Erevos.

2 choices. Talk bullshit about how the subtext is percolating in the female character's voice and the conflict between the two characters is perceived throughout by the subtle hints of their interaction.
I mean that was the point of the exercise and I am positive that Kirstie did a good job as she always does.
(Damn, I should have said something like that in retrospect.)

I was honest though, so I bit the bullet.

I went on to say "I'm so sorry but I've only heard the 2nd part because I just wanted to finish my piece before I lost it. I'm so sorry." (I think I said I'm so sorry about 6 times, and also thought about it a few hundreds more.)
At least, the tutor and the others laughed about it and gave me some credit for being honest (to be frank, I wasn't the only one trying to finish my piece at the time) but I felt so bad for my colleague. It wasn't deliberate.

Damn, this post looks like a livejournal entry. I should end it with a joke. Meh, maybe next time.

Consta... "phasing in and out of the timespace continuum" ...ntine

The internet works again! (plus a flashfic for you peeps)

It's been a while, I know... Life happened and also at some point, the blog, like an unforgiving mistress, stopped uploading. Oh well.

Been in Edinburgh for a month now and I'm totally in love with it...

As usual, when you have dozens of things to say, you can't choose from where to start... I'll just give you a little flash fiction I scribbled down during class yesterday and typed an hour ago. Hope ye like.

***

COLLECTOR

I have been following this particular gentleman for quite some time now.

It may seem out of place to you, as to why I should be on this fellow’s trail all this time, what with me being so busy after all, so I must explain.

He, just like me, is a hunter and a collector of valuables. I always had a fascination of the “chase”, that passion to grasp that which is considered one-of-a-kind or priceless. Over the years I have become exceptionally good at this sort of sport, and so did this man in front of me.

He hasn’t seen me yet.

His usually composed demeanor is gone at the moment as he is walking briskly down the road. The briefcase he holds in his sweaty palm is banging loudly on his expensive suit. That constant thud sounds like a scream to his ears; it’s saying: “I – have – an – awful – lot – of – money – inside – me!”

His eyes dart around. A street full of people, all of them out to get him.

But I walk among them and he hasn’t seen me yet.

I see now that I am not alone on his trail. Others – far less competent than yours truly in the stalking business – are following him.
Some are themselves collectors, some are paid by such.
Some are standing on the right side of the law, some on the wrong.

This comes as no surprise to me. All these years of meticulous work towards the pursuit of his passion have collected him lots of enemies, if you forgive my wordplay.

It doesn’t really matter. It’s all part of the game. And this particular player has finally grown impatient. He has now blown his cover, forsaken the network of contacts at his disposal and now runs towards the precious find. I would like to know what Van Gogh would say if he knew that one of his lost paintings would be the prize of this “race”. Well, thought lost for ages to be precise, and the people who now hold it would like it to remain that way.

Does he truly care about the painting itself? I think not. To him, priceless and worthless are the same but he would probably run behind an ox cart if he felt others would consider it worthy. It is the pursuit which is important to him. I must respect him for that, even if I can see the feebleness of his present actions and this is why I wouldn’t miss this occasion.

He still is cunning though. Just a few well-timed turns in the streets and the others have completely lost his trail.

Pity for the man that the knives don’t aim for his back but for his heart.

We have now reached the rendezvous point. An empty parking lot. How original. It used to be inns and basements once. Cloaks and daggers were replaced by suits and silenced guns.

Oh well, one must go with the times.

He hasn’t seen me yet, but more importantly he hasn’t seen the handgun in the pocket of the smiling woman in front of him. She holds the painting in her other hand. Or more precisely, an empty cylinder that supposedly holds the artifact within.

Not long now. I have to prepare my scythe. Rather obsolete as I understand, but then again it has always served its purpose. Diligence is the mark of a good collector, be it a collection of paintings, souls or even stamps. A collector must never be careless and even though this gentleman was, I won’t be.

Ah, now he sees me.

***

Consta... "still hasn't seen a ghost" ...ntine

Doc's in town

Yesterday, Edinburgh's total level of awesomeness went slightly upwards.
Yep, my big brother is here. He is such a force of nature that the day before he arrived, the wildlife of the place ran away.
Was it a coincidence that yesterday was the sunniest day since I arrived? Of course not.

So, we walked, nay, strutted around the Royal Mile where he summarily did the following:

He desecrated a few landmarks (he threw his chewing gum in the Headwell, one of the tourist attractions because it "kinda looked like a cistern"), took a walk inside one of the nicest graveyards of the city (named after a dog, isn't that cute?) checked out women (although to be fair to the pretty lasses of Edina, he just arrived from Sweden, I mean look at this) yelled bloody murder at Spanish tourists (Navarro, Gasol, Garbachosa and others took an earful), screamed "TERRORIST" two or three times in the middle of the street, tried to sneak inside a private speech at the National Library and also insisted that people here drive wrong (so, of course, he almost got run over by cars, taxis, double-deckers etc.)

And that was just the first two hours. He'll be here for a week.

I won't go on, but have to note that at dinner, he paid for my chicken and Journey's* burger.

And he ate a full T-bone steak by himself.

Go ahead. Google "T-Bone Steak". I dare you.

Consta... "proud little brutha" ...ntine

*[my cool american flatmate, you can joke about the name in the comments section, he won't mind.]

Disturbing...

Today I'll be brief (hooray!) and I'll be talking about girls. (HOORAY!)

So, I'm walking down the road, having heard about this particular creature, habitant of such universities etc-
And then, out of nowhere, there they were.

Four college girls, in their uniforms, running down the road.

I'll just paint you a word picture:

Short plaid skirts flapping, locks of hair dancing on their heads, things of the,um, "roundish persuasion" bouncing underneath the shirt and neck-tie... They are sort of perspired, sweat glistening down their necks, heavy laboured breathing and stuff...
you get it (the idea, that is. I wouldn't know what else could you get [get it? :-p ] )

And yet, the first thought in my head was:

"Damn... somewhere back in Xanthi, Chris is getting a headache, in a sort of 'I feel a great disturbance in the Force' way."

Granted, I was with good company, but this stands for itself.
I saw four girls running and what I instinctively thought of, was you Chris. You and your fetishes. Thanks a billion for ruining catholic schoolgirls for me.

Consta... "Misses you sons of bitches" ...ntine

queues, elephants and rolls

I made a huge step concerning the piece of writing I'm presenting on Tuesday.
The bad thing is, the step was backwards. Until yesterday, I was almost certain which piece I was going to give. Today I stand among four of them. And I like them all (written by me, they are obviously perfect) so I'm not sure what should I do. Flip a coin? Rock,Paper,Scissors,Lizard,Spock? Decisions,decisions...

Remember what I said yesterday, about people going out for a coffee with me? Well, a colleague and friend picked up that torch. We visited the Elephant House, a cafe in the city center, famous for being the birthplace of Harry Potter.
[Get this, apparently she wrote parts of the first two books there. Of course, the owners milked this for everything it's got, so now it's a tourist attaction. You have to wait in line (see?) for about 10 minutes just to get a latte.]
Anyway... We were talking about our prose (which is not a euphemism for youknowwhat, we are writers after all) and she said how bad she felt about writing a piece, concerning a 7 year old boy getting killed. Well, I then went on to say that I have managed to masacre almost all of my characters, including a 5 year old girl in a story that actually got published.
I'm pretty sure she now believes I'm a schizofrenic serial killer* and we find that offensive.
(a blog called brainsanity doesn't help against that though.)
Anyway, it's not my fault; they are short story characters (as in, expendable).

Right now, there's a big fat pile of money next to me. It's 13 pounds and 78 pennies, in copper coins. That's just coins of one penny, twopence and fivepence.
I can build a coin castle out of them :-) Or I can go to tesco's and pull an "old lady" bit. You know, handing every single penny to the clerk, one coin at a time, while the huge line of people behind is cursing and shouting... I could even wear a cap with a daisy on it, just to get in character.

Speaking of tesco's, it has a couple nice things we don't have at supermarkets, back home.
Coleslaw salad is great, sausage rolls are awesome (even though they technically don't have sausage in them, that was a surprise...) 10 grilled barbecue chicken wings for ONE pound... and don't even get me started on caramel shortcakes. If I ever find myself about to be executed, my last meal would definitely include a huge pile of those.
Plus, there's this thing called Cherry Coke. You either love it or hate it. I love it. You can actually make it, just add a little bit of grenadine in a normal coke. You'll thank me later (there's a nice comment section down there). I think it's the best soft drink I ever had.
Well, that's not true, DIET cherry coke is even better!

I guess that's all for today. I'll just go and throw a roll in the microwave oven. Maybe the next one will actually have a sausage in it.

Consta... "sex, drugs and sausage rolls" ...ntine

*[In all fairness though, she just said "serial killer". I added the schizofrenic. Because, you know, honesty.]

The Twelfth Night

Fat Cow! That was the name of that cafeteria! I knew it had a sort of bovine quality in it. Fat Cow... wow, how can a place with such a name close down? I think though that there's another one in town, better find that quickly...

Anyway, I'm not quoting Shakespeare up at the headline, it's just that, this is indeed the twelfth night I'm spending here at my new home so I thought of stating the obvious and yet totally unimportant, since this is what blogs are all about right? No? Just mine?

Moving on, as all of you know, I am attending the cherished Creative Writing Masters here at Edina. Today was a special day because I had my first creative writing workshop! (applause)
So, after callously spewing out some heavy criticism on my lovely peers for a couple hours, I feel that a) We are going to have a splendid year together and b) I'm gonna get a vengeful bashing next week when I'll hand over my own piece of writing.

What's that? Give you a little teaser as to what that piece is gonna be? well, I shouldn't... naah, it's nothing really, horrible,horrible...well, ok if you so terribly insist I will upload something later in the week. But only for you, fellow follower of Brainsanity that shall remain anonymous.

Speaking of which, there are 7 of you! Wow. I think that this was such a shock for the blog itself that right now, there's a huge gap where your names and pics stood oh so proudly, just yesterday. I guess the server is into denial, so...

Ah! I have reason#142 of why Scotland is such a lovely place... I just asked for a jar of putanesca sauce today, out loud, at the market and nobody laughed, sniggered or felt embarassed! Try it back in Greece, I doubledare you. (Yes, it was delicious.)

There's only a catch. As a Greek, I am hardwired -conditioned if you will- to think this: Any day that passes without getting your ass on a fluffy couch at a coffeeshop with good company and a cup of caffeine, blabbering about this and that... is a day lost. I just have to accept the fact that not all citizens of the world think that way. Of course, they are missing out, and this is practically what our ancient Greek philosophers did, paving our way to greatness! (and making everybody else think that we are still like that. Yea, we're not...)
So what they did was, they talked about ideas and stuff while (prepare to be dumbstruck) filling the sofas, ergo, fillosofizing... or something...

Yea! It's true because it sort of looks the same. Who do you think came up with the word sofa? IKEA? I'm dashing out ancient knowledge here.

So, good people of Edina, you are missing out. Why drink coffee while walking on those beautiful roads? Sit there, talk to a stranger while you are at it. Who knows, it may be me. (look for a handsome, tall, pale, brooding sort of bloke.)

Consta... "Cursed by linguists everywhere" ...ntine

The road less travelled - or street less walked?

Greetings and hairetismata to you all, (and by all, I mean George who is the sole follower, thanks George!)

Well, I just left the library, having failed to meet with a mate (that place is enormous!) and I was on the way home. Now, there is a straight line that gets me from George Square (where the school is) to my flat.
And yet I decided for no particular reason to go back via another street, right next to my usual route. Why would I do that? The result was a few minutes of additional walking.
The answer probably is: "Because you live in the greatest city of Europe, dumbass, who knows what that other street may hold?"

Unsurprisingly (?), there were the following:
-A second-hand bookshop there (sweet!),
-A chinese supermarket (PASS- there was this skinny cat right outside and it was staring right at my crotch for no particular reason)
-A Western-Union spot (noted for the future)
-A church that could be called brand-new (if you lived in the 1600s)

-A closed coffeeshop that was really bland but had a really witty name... damnit, now I forgot it! (-0-) *

-A big fat restaurant that was probably too pricey for us lowly students (I have never seen a restaurant with purple seats that wasn't really expensive. Think about it.)

-A donut shop (must...stay...away... Also, don't you love it when they describe chocolate as "decadent"? Out of all the adjectives in the Anglosaxon... Decadent? I concur! :-) )

For a guy who once got lost while actually standing still, this sidetracking was a huge step towards making this place feel like home. Robert Frost would be proud.

Consta... "Master Tracker" ...ntine

* [since I didn't have anything to say about the closed coffee-shop but I like these guys a lot "( )", I decided to just make a Tie-Fighter from StarWars]

Hey

Hello and hairete, everybody,

After half a fortnight* in the most beautiful city ever, Edinburgh Scotland (there's another one I hear, in Indiana,), I have decided to create this blog.

Here I'll occasionally upload ponderings, blabberings, (you are reading one of those at the moment) experiences, occurences, short stories, wet dreams... well you get the idea. It's a typical blog, not quantum physics.

What's that, script? Why haven't I created a blog earlier? Why did I waste so many years of my fruitful, adventurous life without a bardic retelling of my most valorous deeds?
Well, there are lots of reasons and they have absolutely nothing to do with the truth of the matter.
Which is simply this: I just found a name that seems/sounds mildly interesting and fitting to me, which was also available (I mean, who would have thought that Writer's Block would be unavailable?)

So voila:

Brainsanity. As in, brain and insanity (I know, right? I amaze myself sometimes...) I can say that, it does suit me. There are big dollops of insanity in there, thousands of different mindframes swirling in a chaos of neurons and I can happily say that they are really useful, especially for a writer-wannabe.
Out of thousands of characters, I have only used up about maybe fifty in my short stories and half-finished novels. Plenty more where those came from.

Of course, I can be a very serious and understanding sane person whenever I want to.

Ask any of my friends and they'll say (among other adjectives like, polite, goodhearted, talented, handsome, demigod-like etc): "Yea, Dinos, he's the serious one".
Ask any of my enemies and... well, you can't really, there aren't any (breathing).

Sometimes though, I feel I'm too young to be this serious. It's good, it's useful, it comes naturally, but sometimes.. it's not me.

So Brainsanity could help me with this paradox. Don't ask "how" or "wtf are you blabbering about?" No one forced you to read this blog. (unless, whining and constant whoring for attention from my part counts as force)

So, I guess I should leave you with something deep and thoughtful. However, Since I don't have something of that nature at the moment, I'll just quote a brilliant mind (chokeful of brainsanity himself too) that once said to me this, while strolling in the center of Thessaloniki:

(yea, the quotes started from #1)

"You know that 'We only live once' saying? Screw that, 'we are young only once' is much better and don't forget it."

Think about it. This guy's absolutely right!

So, since I'm only going to be young once, it would be nice to look back at this blog and feel embarassed of my pompous talk that looks kinda cocky and "smart" at this exact moment.

Here's to you, future self. Don't forget me!

Consta... "Likes to use So to begin paragraphs" ... ntine

*Half a fortnight: Probably the most pretentious way I can think of right now to say 10 days. Also, it's totally rubbish since a fortnight is 14 nights, not 20 as I remembered. Thnx Ainsley :-)