Time,
oh time is a silly thing,
it proves things right
and it proves them wrong.
Its’ seemingly long years change you and all that can be touched.
Time-
this illusion we base our lives around, this illusion we obsess over
(don’t deny it, we all do).
It confines us to a routine, to a norm.
The time spent at desks makes us into zombies.
The time spent after chokes us with copious amounts of papers and projects.
But occasionally it grants us a wondrous thing called
wisdom.
It bestows upon us insight and growth.
My always shrewd teenage self has grown to believe that time…
can go **** itself.
I want to fall into a slumber that is a day or two long,
catch up on rest and miss the trials of everyday life.
Of course, once several days pass or several thousand ticks of a clock,
I’ll crave another respite.
Life.
Life is hard.
It’s tiring.
And somehow there is never enough time to
work,
work on the work,
rework the work,
eat,
sleep,
take a couple deep breathes to keep from jamming a stapler into any eyeballs,
be a healthy person,
and do all the things that society tells you to do.
Maybe a designated sleep day would be nice.
If we only need 8 hours of peaceful slumber
for every 16 hours of traumatizing wakefulness,
then sleeping for 24 hours would give us
48 hours of working.
Right?
No.
But it’s a proportion,
so theoretically it should make sense.
Which leads me to conclude that 8 hours is not merely enough time to rest.
Unless you’re under the age of 6.
Or you’re retired.
Or in a coma.
Or…
But no.
No, no, no, no, no.
We must keep going.
Like good little soldiers
on and on
for 60 years,
70 years,
80 years?
I’m sorry but that just does not appeal to me.
Why oh why would I want to work my body to unhealthy levels.
Why oh why would I want to exhaust my mind to points of breakdowns
nearly
every
day.
It’s silly to want to have enough time to eat healthily.
And hit the gym 3 or 4 times a week.
And sleep until recharged.
Yes that’s preposterous.
Ridiculous.
Time is an illusion
that is ruining lives.
If we have an illusion
destroying us from the inside out,
does that make us
crazy?

All Of ME
written: july 8th, 09 Wednesday

broken desire,
unbearable pain,
haunting passion,
white room dreams,
all equal secret insanity.
all equal me.

your skin
your lips
your eyes
your tears
temptations that possess me

i still dream of you
and it pushes me over tha edge
as i scream in slience
and i hear you voice in my head
suductive and kindless

taunting me
haunting me

just illision
i'm delusional

i want you so badly
you make me forget
the regret
and the incurable infections of my heart

you can call me selfish
i am
but your a insure desperate man

paranoid thoughts,
deprived imagination,
isolated pride
and sweet desperation

you and me and our bodies
you and me and our bodies

entwined
as i breathe in your name
and my lungs hurt with tha pain

something i can never have
i tasted the sweetness and i want it bad

your magical sin
giving in.....to impurities  

now you have all of me

Place to stay  
out to wonder
Place to announce
the yes and no
To look and feel alone
with an echo
Outside on the streets are people walking
Inside the warmness of neutrality
You hesitate to rest or to activate the will
Illision accepteble without methermineia

Maria Panoutsou
Barbican  London host area  January 2016

I lie on the green grass
Soft
Curling
Against my skin

Golden sunlight
Filtering
From the blue
Blue sky

Music
Mixing with the sound
Of a bird
Of an insect
Buzzing
Humming
I hear the echo
Of your hello
Of your goodbye
In my head
Still

I feel
The warmth
Of the sun
But if you forced my head
To the East
Forever
I would swear
That it had
Never existed
The way I can swear
That our love
Is an illision

Incessant
Thoughts of sorrow
Of longing
Buzzing
Through the grayness
Of my subconscious
I'm tired
Of starting to go
Crazy

Love cries outwards as it falls from grace once of  powerful meaning now lingers in the hands of doubt four letters of a word an idea of true connection now must be redefined in the opera of illision once thought of truth love must now surrender to the possibility that it's form its foundation can be more can be weaponized  and used to harm the fragile ingredients of emotion

Helplessness a harmful feeling that surrounds us all fragile beings  of mortal blood we linger in foolish games pretending that we are all powerful and in control a liars performance danced among others who pretend in this sickness of illision for we are all children danceing inside are own individual fears feeling all along a powerful sense of helplessness

The after shock torments the mind while rejection dances it's dance of victory for love played it's roles two entwined within the circus of illision each holding its own agenda while all along the winds of serpration slipped within loves triangle a begining to the end of our first kiss