Εμφάνιση αναρτήσεων με ετικέτα Πεζά. Εμφάνιση όλων των αναρτήσεων
Εμφάνιση αναρτήσεων με ετικέτα Πεζά. Εμφάνιση όλων των αναρτήσεων

Τετάρτη 8 Ιουνίου 2016

Ντεκρεσέντο

Περώνιαζε το κρύο και βγήκα έξω με τις κάλτσες ν'ανασάνω το χιόνι. Πόσα χριστούγεννα θα περάσουν έτσι καμωμένα; Ανασαίνοντας το χρόνο που περνάει μεσ'απ' τα φώτα του δρόμου τ' αποκαμωμένα. Ξέχασα ν'ακούσω για μια στιγμή τ'αυτοκίνητα και τα σπίτια, το θόρυβο που κάνει η ανθρώπινη παρουσία στο τίποτα μα ανοίγωντας τ' αυτιά μου δεν συνάντησα παρα μόνο σιωπή. Γιατί ειναι σιωπιλή η αγάπη που έρχεται τα χριστούγενα, που ανοίγεται σε τραπέζια, που ξετυλίγεται σε χαρτιά, γιατί είναι αγάπη επιλήσμων. Με το παραχρονισμένο της τίποτα γυρίζει στους δρόμους να με τσακίζει. Έτσι στερεή, αναβάλωντας το τέλος απο εκείνο το αιώνιο και διαρκές που με καταβάλει από χρόνο σε χρόνο προσπαθούσα να θυμηθώ τη φωνή μου όταν είπα το γεια σας το αντίο, το σ'αγαπώ. Μήπως και ακούσω κάπως τη μουσική της ζωής καθώς περνάει απ' το ντεκρεσεντο στο πρίμο φινάλε. Και ζητάει το μυαλό, ζητάει ο νους, ζητάνε τα χέρια, τα χρόνια, τα μαλλία, ζητάνε τα χιόνια του Δεκέμβρη με τα μάτια των φίλων να ξαναπαίξει η μουσική του εντρέ.
Ε λοιπόν δεν το θέλω το εντρε των παιδιών σας, κουράστηκε η μέση μου να υποκρίνεται οτι διψάει για κάτι παραπάνω από ενα χαρτί και το παράθυρο να περνάει η ζωή χωρίς εμένα όπως θέλει , έπεσαν τόσα ξέφτια απ' τα ριμάδια των φιλιών σας που δεν τη θέλω πια τέτοια ενορχήστροση, θα την κρατίσω για τη ζωή των ανθρώπων. Εγώ μονάχα ένα φινάλε θέλω να με χωρέσει, να με βρεί να στέκομαι μουσκεμένος από τον έρωτα της ζωής αγκαλιασμένος στα βιβλία και την ατέρμονη συντροφια των γραμμών, των διαλεγμένων λέξεων, των μορφών που γνωρίζω σύντομα, που αποχεραιτώ συνεχόμενα, που γνωρίζω σκυφτά και διακεκομένα καθώς διαλέγουν κάθε ανομοιομορφία του λόγου.
Αυτά σκεφτόμουν όταν με βρήκε ο ίσκιος στο πεζούλι. Να κάνω σκέψεις καινούριες, να τις γνωρίζω προτότυπες, σαν έρωτας με ενα νεο σώμα να μου έρχονται νωχελικά και αχόρταγα. Έτσι ήξερα πως είχε έρθει η γένεση που ζητούσα, με μανία και μάτια βραχνά, αυτιά μουσκεμένα απ' την ηχώ της περπάτησα την πόρτα αναζητώντας τη θαλπωρή του χαρτιού.

Τρίτη 7 Ιουνίου 2016

Don't write poems about me

I really think I could ever trust a man who would write poems about me. As if writing poems carries with its grandness an element of imminent disloyalty that is only disclosed to the one who writes himself. Is it that inspiration is unfaithful or that it is self loving? Or is it simply me who cannot stand the clarity and immediacy of my own reflection in the words of others, a tremble of they coming at me like a crystal jar over a kitchen fly.

In these words alone, one can see how love is born on the contrapositives.
I hate for what is.
I love for what is not.

There's also something else that would bother me though. His writing about me can't be but the result of an indeliberate attempt to find, an outcome of an inveterate search in the everything that exists and disappears in the presences of people in all the noises and unclarities, the surrealisms of any given togetherness. In search emerges the poet's condition, the decomposition of constructible realities, a licence to aberrate that defines what is created from the leftovers of what is.

This precise restlessness about the state of affairs is what would drive me mad. For I can't believe my soul was fabricated to withstand being the object of that much searching.

Σάββατο 28 Νοεμβρίου 2015

Atlantas

Lying on my bed, that's after all where most of life happens, between those two stops out of the main road lay my thought. Stop one was the paper, the other was the dream.

I keep thinking about people. I keep coming back to them as if in some mysterious litany of salvation, as if I am the God waiting for humans to crucify me again, and through their holding of my hands, and the warmth of their fingers holding me together with the cross waiting to feel the love that longs my heart to be saved from the numbness of happiness.

This is where my thought had been. This is where it was born this afternoon. I lay down with it like a lover betrays his love, for the body, like a lover finds his own love unbearable to carry, I lay down and the thought lay on me like a foreign body. And I was not the God in this world that came to me. The people whose thought brought me there were not asking for forgiveness, the carrying of the sins was for them I found, some sort of obligatory exercise of empathy. Those people stayed silent, it is a praying and ordering, it is an imposing crowd I live among,  this world was wanting me to stand on my two feet, some mere exercise that its unbearableness can stand there with me, the foreign body hanging from my chest dead and me dying with it. And lying there with the body spreading over me still the evening found me still too, physically alive while some soul inside me screaming for the cross.

It is me who asked for these thoughts I know. I ask for them when happiness withdraws into some miserable search for causality. Some fingers on my hand moved, almost as if it was someone else's hand hanging on the side of the bed. I stayed, I let the cross fool me, dishevelled into some idle comfort of sadness.

What a weakness it was that I let myself dream for a moment the room full of doors opening, I dreamed the sound, I smelled the shoes walking in drenched in the rain and the weight meeting the eyes wondering where is it that my surprise was coming from. Is it surprise of affection reciprocated? Is this surprise of affection reciprocated in the same way, for it is only in those comfortable similarities that man understands a man. I thought the eyes of the man opening the door and the misunderstanding put me in that chair tied up, light blinding me and the blindness made it known that I knew what I wanted from the hand who got me there. The search brought him to the meeting of the eyes . It is not affection, that surprised me, the bringing of the feet and the hand to my doorstep seeking some fox's eyes, it was the feeling of the door opening and affection finding itsself incapable of lifting the weight that had me there, the instand urge to keep the door shut in the fear that she would find its way there, and realise it's insufficiency.
In the absence of love,
I was the Atlas.
For isn't love the wanting to lift of a human's weight? Or is it becoming the Atlas for wanting to lift the weight love wants to lift for you?

It dawned on me that in the absense of love I had to lift my own weight
It dawned on me that in it's presence I shall by now know that love is wanting to lift my own weight still.

Σάββατο 4 Απριλίου 2015

The day Science killed Economics



"What's in the name?" Shakespear made it clear: "That which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet". To Shakespeare the name of things was independent and hence uninformative with respect to their substance. But what if the name of things is not just the carrier of information with regards to meaning but also a catalyst with respect to what that meaning actually is?


Truth and the "Science" Factor

Economics is in most, if not all departments around the world today "named" a Social "Science". Unlike other "social sciences" Economics has the unfortunate capacity of using mathematics to "scientify" and formalize its conclusions. To not completely understate the importance of this capacity I do admit, economics is very much mathematical in some ways. Same as in Engineering, in economics mathematics is a tool, a way to recreate circumstances under which one repeatedly applies certain pressures to a system to see its reaction. Mathematics is in this sense a telescope or a microscope that allows one to see detail, to entertain cause and effect. Unlike engineering however, economics has had a bit more trouble with focus. Unlike engineering, “the engine” that economists have to look into and the “pressures” this engine is subject to depend much more “on the eye of the beholder”. In that way, “economists” are potentially slightly more like physicists. They have to discover the rules by which a system works without being able to  “see” everything, and even worse, unlike physicists, without being able to recreate experimentally situations in a lab. So what the sort of thing economists are looking for is, what the kind of truth they are looking for is, what is its nature: subjective or absolute and whether that truth even exists, are questions the answers to which are, to say the least, ambiguous. For that reason the term “social science” in conjunction with the unfortunate capacity to scientificity has potentially proven problematic not just for the discipline but (looking at austerity and market “liberation” hysteria) for societies as a whole that have to bear the cross of bad economics and the Experts that come with it.


Economics and “the Theory of Everything”

Steven Hawking (The Grand Design), in his attempt to summarize not just the purpose of science but also what we call the “scientific methodology” said the following: “Today most scientists would say a law of nature is a rule that is based upon an observed regularity and provides predictions that go beyond the immediate situations upon which it is based”. Based on observation and on accepting the existence of things such as “natural laws”: relations consistent across time and space within a given “scale” of matter (atoms vs planets), science aims to uncover those laws and compose, like a puzzle, “The Theory of Everything”: A theory that by its composition by “natural laws”, has the power to provide predictions beyond the immediate situation in which it is based.

This is the sort of thinking that underlies the natural sciences. This is also the sort of thinking that has underlied and guided most modern economics. Not only the conviction that certain “natural laws” of social sciences do exist but also that moving from observation to their discovery we can – as “scientists” make predictions beyond the immediate situation on which those laws were based.

This is how economists started asking questions like “Does aid help growth?”, “Does government spending help growth” and other stupid gravity-wide-scale questions. Same as in the realms of physics questions of that “all encompassing” nature are only justified under the premise that “under certain conditions” some consistent and countable relationship between those variables such as aid and growth does exist. One would say at this point: “well yes… but physics has different laws according to “those certain conditions” as well, that’s why we have quantum physics, astrophysics etc…


Economics and the Theory of Nothing

While setting out the appropriate conditions under which a theory: a consistent set of laws, holds is a reality in all sciences, it is probably common sense that the scale of which this takes place is inversely related to the theory’s predictive power. If physics had to device a new set of “natural laws” with regards to gravity and movement of particles for any new building you entered some of that universality would be lost and they’d probably be much less confident in calling them “natural laws”. Only naturally, economics, influenced by its commitment to scientificity, has attempted to find such laws and the set of circumstances under which those theories hold. But what if a theory in economics can only extend as far as the immediate situation in which it was based and hence what if “natural laws” that can make predictions beyond that immediate situation simply do not exist. What if the “circumstances” in the case of economics are for example the particular norms of the area on which the observations were based, the people of a certain demographic, culture, income. What if economic “laws” exists under such a niche set of circumstances of time, space and people that have zero predictive power beyond those particular people and that particular time. What if economics –in contradiction with its crowning as a “science”- can only answer very specific questions like the ones that Banerjee and Duflo (Poor economics) very intelligently set out to do. Questions like: Why did the provision of free bed nets in a given African village did not work to decrease malaria?

Which brings me back to Shakespeare and the violation of the independence hypothesis. The “name”, the obsession with what we believe we have to do as scientists has harmed economic thinking and the progress of economics to the extend that it makes me wonder whether economics has done more harm than good in the past 10 years or even worse whether it has even sought to do good to start with…. Because unfortunately, with labelling something as a science another interesting feature has risen: as to all good scientists so to economists, what has mattered is one’s contribution to one’s science. Hence these days an economist judges another by his/her contributions proxied by one’s publications. A good economist is therefore one who published at Econometrica last May rather than one who helped alleviate poverty in region X of country Y or one who explained why inequality arises as a characteristic of labour market X and redistribution Y in country K.

And it is so large the failure of “economic natural laws” that our conviction to them as economists is equivalent to that of the engineers of a zero gravity planet trying to fire a rocket without fuel on earth just because “by observation” in their planet, floating is possible. The conviction is so tragic that instead of questioning to what extend “gravity of x m/s” is indeed universal, they blame the rocket for not being fired correctly. This is the kind of reasoning that has led to treating the financial crisis as an outlier. An “error”, an element of “randomness” rather than a failure of our assumptions and the laws that come with them a failure rendering the crisis “unpredicted even though predictable” (Dani Rodrik).

The World of 2009 A.E. (After Experts)


As an economist this sort of thinking saddens me. It is toxic not only to our world by the emergence of “expert economists” (as an extension of the notion that economic laws are universal and hence one could indeed be an expert) but it has also held back the discipline from declaring dead ideas as dead, from breaking free and growing past its mistakes to the powerful tool it could be. It is almost as if we live by the cross and the crown of “science” too much to service the people we are meant to be writing about as the reality of the adjective “social” in front of “science” would suggest.


"I almost think we are all of us (economists) ghosts. It is not only what we have inherited from our father and mother (substitute discipline) that "walks" in us. It is all sorts of dead ideas, and lifeless old beliefs , and so forth. They have no vitality, but they cling to us all the same, and we cannot shake them off. Whenever I take up a newspaper, I seem to see ghosts gliding between the lines. There must be ghost all the country over, as thick as the sands of the sea. And then we are, one and all, so pitifully afraid of the light" (Henry Ibsen, The Ghosts)


I' ll finish with an example, as every good economics paper should. An example of the toxicity of experts as a by product of this sort of thinking as well as of our inability to declare "laws": niche and our way of thinking: flawed.


Barry Eichengreen came to my university a few months ago to give a speech on austerity and the financial crisis. While I heard several times about the "events" that we missed as economists and the reasons why austerity had been necessary for some, I heard nothing about equity, about lack of appropriate tools to speak about asymmetries: things that make each economy and each society different, things that economist's "natural laws" couldn't by construction have captured. When the floor was opened to questions I asked him about these things. In the minute of an answer I got to the most important question of the discipline he just couldn't get himself to admit that the tools we have, the way we think about things MIGHT potentially be flawed. I wanted him to have said something, anything to admit his own limitations, the limitations not of what he knows but mostly of how he knows. I guess admitting the silliness of the universality in such an intractable, diverse world would reduce the significance of "experts" like himself. In moments like this it scares me that people like that advise todays’ policies and politicians. I guess that is a different issue not of methodology but of responsibility so I’d better stop here.



Κυριακή 4 Μαΐου 2014

Ευθύνες αφόρητες



Πίστευα πως καθένας απασχολείται βραδινά με τις τύψεις υποσχέσεων που σβήσαν και σβήσαν και τα μάτια ανθρώπων που άλλαζαν και άδειαζαν τακτικά όσο η μία υπόσχεση ξεπερνούσε την άλλη μέχρι που γίνονταν μάτια ξένων και γνωστών παλιών. Μα καθώς παρατηρούσα τις λέξεις και τις ματιές των γυναικών και των κόσμων που περνούσαν δίστασα να πιστέψω την άγνοια και το επίπεδο της. Είναι άραγε ο άνθρωπος τόσο ανάξιος να αναγνωρίσει την επιπολαιότητα του; Είναι άραγε τόσο εγωιστής που τυφλώνεται στην ομορφιά του κόσμου που αποκτά κάποια βαρύτητα; Που οι λέξεις βαστούν κάποια υπόσχεση κάποια υπόσταση και δημιουργούν κάτι από ένα τίποτα; Ή μήπως εγώ ο ουτοπιστής ανόητος περιμένω ένα τίποτα να δημιουργήσει ένα κάτι; Γιατί είναι οι λέξεις ευθύνες αφόρητες για τους ανθρώπους αγάπη μου που θέλουν να ζουν σαν στοιχειά να περνούν από τρένο σε τρένο με κάποιον αόριστο προορισμό που δεν κρατά εισιτήριο να τους βρίσκει η αποβάθρα ξεβρασμένους από την επιλογή που οδήγησε σε μιαν άλλα και σε μιαν άλλη μα καμιά σε κανέναν όρκο απτό και ολόκληρο. Γιατί είναι οι ευθύνες αφόρητες και οι λέξεις κούφιες και οι καρδιές γεμάτες φορτία φορτία θετικά με κοινούς πόλους περιστρεφόμενους αρνητικούς θετικούς να μην κρατιούνται από καμία έλξη να μην προσεγγίζονται από καμία βαρύτητα πραγματική. Πώς; Δεν γνωρίζεις για τι μιλάω; Να. Δεν μιλάω για εκείνες τις λέξεις που μου είπες όταν περιέγραφες κάτι κι εγώ τις πίστεψα. Μιλάω για όλες εκείνες που μου είπαν οι άνθρωποι ύστερα από σενα και δεν πίστεψα καμια
από θυμό και από αγάπη για μένα.

Σάββατο 3 Μαΐου 2014

Το χρέος



Ίσως κοιμάται ακόμη. Ίσως πέθανε. Δεν μπορούσε η αναπνοή να τον κρατήσει στο δρόμο και κάπως έγινε και όταν έφτασε χάθηκε στον ύπνο. Σε κάποιο όνειρο τον πήρε κάποιο τρένο και τον άφησε κάπου αλλού.

Τα φώτα σβηστά και το ρολόι ξεχασμένο. Και η θύμηση του καμία. Η αξία πιστεύω είναι τέτοια που κανείς δεν θα την άφηνε πίσω για μια γυναίκα. Αλλά δεν με αφορά αυτό. Όπως πιστεύω πως δεν θα έπρεπε να με αφορά και ο ίδιος. Αλλά η ανοησία του ανθρώπου καμιά φορά είναι απέραντα ακατανόητη.

Το ρολόι μένει. Κλείνω τα μάτια μου και σκέφτομαι πόσο κρυώνω. Τι βλάκας. Ποιος αφήνει το παράθυρο ανοιχτό με τέτοιο κρύο; Μα ακόμη περισσότερο, ποιος το δέχεται προκειμένου να σε έχει κοντά του. Ανόητη. 

Το ρολόι μένει και χτυπάει την ώρα κι εγώ ξεχνιέμαι κι ας είναι δικό του, χρέος ξεχασμένο να ορκίζεται με την αξία του την καθημερινή τα δυο του μάτια τα κίτρινα. Δε μ’ αρέσουν τα χρέη. Ειδικά εκείνα που βασίζονται σε συναισθηματικές ελαφρότητες. Αν δεν θέλω να γυρίσω δεν πρέπει τίποτε, τίποτε πραγματικό να με γυρνάει. Καμία αξία αριθμητική κανένα χρέος που χτυπάει τικ τακ την ώρα. Τρεις. Καμία ώρα δεν μου φτάνει. Ο ξύπνιος μακραίνει και μπλέκεται με τον ύπνο και όταν ξυπνώ, δεν ξέρω τι έζησα τι ζήσαμε και τι μένει ακόμη. Μα μου μένει ένας θυμός ανεξήγητος. Με τον εαυτό μου, που μου δίνεις αυτό που δεν αξίζω κι εγώ το δέχομαι. Με το πείσμα μου, πως το ρολόι είναι ασήμαντο  και το χρέος είναι συναισθηματικό και αφορά εσένα. Ανόητη. Μα μεγαλώνω, αυτό είναι το μόνο που δέχομαι για τον εαυτό μου. Αυτό κρατά μακριά την απογοήτευση. Πως είσαι κάτι προσωρινό κι εγώ το ξέρω και δοκιμάζω  την ελαφρότητα μου. Την αντοχή μου απέναντι σε δεσμούς λυτούς και ανούσιους. 

Τικ και Τακ. Δεκέμβριος και Ιανουάριος και Σήμερα και χθες το βράδυ και δυο αναπνοές που ξέχασαν να εμφανιστούν και σε σήκωσαν απ’ το κρεβάτι μου με χίλιες δικαιολογίες και χίλιες ματιές ανεξερεύνητες. Είναι χίλιοι οι άνθρωποι που γνώρισα σε σένα μα μεγαλώνω και αυτό κρατάει μακριά την απογοήτευση, πως μαθαίνω πώς είναι να παίρνεις αυτό που θέλεις απ’ του ανθρώπους και να θέλεις αυτό που παίρνεις. Και μαθαίνω πως είναι να ξεχωρίζεις αυτό που πρέπει, αυτό που θέλεις από αυτό που μπορείς. Και αυτό που ήρθε γιατί  ήταν εκεί από αυτό που κρατιέται από ένα ρολόι ξεχασμένο.

Μικρό το χρέος. Διήμερο. Έτσι πιστεύω πως μακριά δεν θα πάει και θα χωριστεί θα ξεχρεωθεί και θα μείνουν δυο άνθρωποι ύστερα ξοφλημένοι. Να μην χρωστούν πια ο έναν στον άλλο τίποτα μοναχά παρελθόν.

Πέμπτη 24 Απριλίου 2014

Pour l’ hedonism



Ο ηδονισμός βρίσκεται μακριά απ’ την ύλη, έτσι πιστεύω. Ξέρω πως μιλάει η ζάχαρη σ’ εκείνη την πρώτη στιγμή ή ο καφές, το άρωμα η γεύση η αίσθηση, το κρασί, το μούδιασμα, μα δεν γνωρίζω αν αυτές είναι οι ηδονές που αποζητάει ο άνθρωπος ή αν αυτές είναι οι εμπειρίες που μπορεί να προσεγγίσει κοντά σ’ εκείνες τις μη υλικές ευτυχίες. Της γαλήνης που δεν μπορεί να βρει ίσως είναι το κρασί και η ζάχαρη είναι εκείνης της συντροφιάς ή του ενθουσιασμού εκείνου του δυσεύρετου. Έτσι πιστεύω. Κι ας κάνω λάθος κάτι μέσα μου νιώθει μια ευτυχία που τίποτε μεγάλο δεν δίνεται αν δεν αξίζεται. Ίσως οι άνθρωποι να ήταν λιγότερο ευτυχισμένοι βέβαια αν ανακάλυπταν τέτοιου είδους πραγματικότητες. Γιατί όταν είσαι μικρός νιώθεις κάπως όμορφα αν μικραίνεις τα πάντα στο ύψος σου. Μέχρι και τις ηδονές να μικραίνεις στο ύψος σου αντί να ψηλώνεις στο ύψος των ηδονών. Έτσι ανόητος είναι ο άνθρωπος που μέχρι και την ευτυχία μικρή θέλει να την κάνει για να μπορεί να τη φτάσει. Κι αφού τη στριμώξει στην πραγματικότητα τον πραγμάτων να την αφήσει εκεί να περιμένει για μιαν άλλη στιγμή πιο κατάλληλη.