mmm... anything and if not everything,
             but... the scent of... soap.
   it was by far the easiest thing to do today,
making chapati dough...
                  and then frying it...
     with a near-miss of smoke-signals going off...
since the frying pan became so hot...
                      that the kitchen became filled with
       the haze...
                       still...
                              so much more easier
than making pancakes...
        flour... water... oil... salt... pepper...
                  and hey presto! cooking's done.
     (sniffing sound): but what's this perfume in the night?
    (sniffing sound):          the scent i'm picking up?
soap...
                 a freshly scrubed and rinsed skin...
                 it's far beyond a desire to fry something
in butter, or lard...
             it's much more than parisian pefumes...
       it's... just... the scent of... soap!
                                   is it some flower oozing out
this perfume?
            or is it some woman two doors down,
                                               washing herself o.c.d.?
i'll say one thing: april in england, this year?
during the nights?
                     warmer than the may nights so far.
but the soap soap perfume in the night!
          who's playing tricks on me!?
                                          i can't get enough of it!
i really wish it's some flower, that you can't intagram
or use ****** regocnition services on...
       a bit like saying: you have an app. that
                               allows you to recognise vaginas?
****! this scent of soap is not going away from my nostrils!

you are the swan
that I was jealous off,

during a  greenish  morning
at  the  national garden,
so I photographed you

neck, face and anguished eyes
full of grace movement,

body defeathering by me
with the momentum of a lifetime

can t  forget, can t ask,
a brief contriteness

©Maria Panoutsou
March 2017

This house
slowly unraveling
peeling off in layers
            like citrus of sectioned
freshness
      squeezed out of bounds
                            my heart
                    all caught up
in rooms, furniture
f l y In g
no longer rooted
by familial gravity
My veins wrapped
in long strands of
              live wires
hugging each item tight
                 as if to unlock
       the memories that
scintillate within
and I
      radiate my  
            feelings of forever
to somehow imprint them
before they
whirl and swirl off
into the universe
Snippets of our lives
in angled slices
of colored mirror
a look
    a smile
       a glint in the eye
children laughing
               a garden surprise
               crazy kitchen singing
                      first solids and a bib
              first little sweet dance
      beatific smile from the crib
the bedroom for cuddles
little bugs wrapped in blankets,
so close and so dear
flanked by both of us,
guardians of light,
keeping out fears
Once, we claimed private time
velvet kisses down
trails of skin
hot lusted shadows
gently sliding within
This is how love corrupts
         how old batteries explode
            burning rust that erupts
                        as I break out
            from the mold
Now your words hit my skin
in bad chemical reaction
knives and arrows of rupture
as my bone marrow
                       gets fractured
Insides are spilling out
guts all over the floor
all this chaos created
as I split
     through
              the door

nietzsche? what he did? inverting the cartesian equation?
like: 1 + 1 = 2, turned into 1 + 1 = 2?
   **** me... isn't that confusing...
                         the symbol = precipiates into ergo;
         what did he do?
                         he inverted the cartesian principle...
he said:                 i am, therefore i think...
                         so why are all these people coming
out from the woodworks, like cockroaches?
                                 i already said it once,
the antithesis of the cartesian res cogitans
   a thinking thing... is  res vanus:
              an empty thing...
                             test of time...
     you stop ******* for about a month?
your ***** turns... yellow... it's no longer white...
your testicles shrink... you're shooting
             evil *****...
                          and then you talk to a woman
who's been "learning" about her period, *******?
             want to have children?
    stop ******* for a month...
                         **** her on her period
but don't *******... then **** her once more when
she's off it...
                   the cramps are gone... your ***** is
so concenrated that it's no longer white, but yella..
               what are you going to get?
  a screaming báhor (toddler) in your arms...
         but nietzsche inverted the cartesian "equation"...
thankfully... he got it wrong,
in a sense, he didn't counter res cogitans (thinking thing)
    with res vanus (empty thing) -
              sure, nietzsche was influential in the 20th century...
in the 21st century though?
          more like the label guy...
         i'm this... i'm that... i'm whatever you wish me to be...
the 21st century says: nietzsche isn't an ocean...
    he was a depth of a puddle's worth to claim...
            but it's there! it's in one of his footnotes!
  he reverses the cartesian "equation"...
  he "says": i am, therefore i think.
                       no wonder then, where all the 21st century
labels come from!
      these people aren't thinking!
                    i'd love for this label to come about:
i thinking... therefore i'm dumb-seeming...
                                           because i shut-the-****-up!
   hard to not think of two things...
   i think corresponding to res cogitans...
   with i am correspoding to res vanus -
                      and ergo corresponding to ***.
          meaning?
           why are so many people associating themselves with
so many labels, on an intellectual level of deciding
whether or not to wear versace, dolce & gabbana,
  or primani... oh sorry... armani.
     people express so many labels though,
     it's like they stress the second half of the cartesian equation,
but not the first half...
                which precipitates into heidegger's da-"sein".
   there is.... sure... there really is...
      but what?       is that actually being, without thinking?
or am i just putting clothes on to look kosher
     at a paris fashion catwalk?
                                      it's almost, well, it actually is:
a question: there's being?
                    that question substitutes the conceptualißation
of being's pluralism qua beings...
i.e. the many happenings...
               the rebel ant in the ant-hill... at best: the only
suggestive approximate.
         there sure as **** is a being... but the da, the there?
     reduced to newspaper articles,
read on friday, recycled on a monday, in orange
bin-bags.