Monthly Archives: Ιουνίου 2016



-How was the world made?

-From the Bing Bang.

-I never understood what this means.

-It’s very simple. Universe was just a hot thing. This hot thing suddenly became bigger and bigger and bigger including more and more things.

-What hot thing?

-Just a very hot thing.

-Do you really believe in this? How was this hot thing made?

-It was just there.

-But where did the energy to create it come from?

-It was not created.

-How is this possible?

-Ehmm.. Like… you know… when a person who never ever received love… loves.


ps. Quentin Tarantino, possibly paraphrasing a song of Johnny Cash, wrote once in the script of the Natural Born Killers that:

Love is a hurtin' thing,
                    and it leaves a fiery sting.

Now Lera Lynn sings again that:

Love is a burnin' thing,
                    and it makes a fiery ring.


H φύση και τα όχι-μέρη

Ο Marc Augé έχει σκεφτεί και έχει γράψει για τα μέρη και τους τόπους με έναν τρόπο που ξεκινάει από τις πιο σκοτεινές γωνιές της ανθρώπινης ψυχής. Σκέφτηκε ότι οι άνθρωποι δεν χρησιμοποιούν μονάχα τις εμπειρίες του για να κατασκευάσουν τους τόπους αλλά και τους τόπους για να ανασκευάσουν τις εμπειρίες αυτές. Έτσι μίλησε για την φύση και τα μέρη που μή όντας μέρη (non-places), ανάμεσα στα άλλα, τα «κανονικά» μέρη, καταφέρνουν να κάνουν τους ανθρώπους που έχουν θύμηση να λησμονούν και να μεταβαίνουν από τον έναν αντιληπτό κόσμο στον άλλο. Μέρη μοναχικά και απόκοσμα, εκεί όπου κανείς δεν ανήκει, μέρη στα οποία αξίζει να φτάνουν μονάχα εκείνοι που το ονειρεύονται όταν το έχουν ανάγκη.
“Don’t we all have a certain number of images that stay around in our head, which we undoubtedly call memories and improperly so, and which we can never get rid of because they return in our sky with the regularity of a comet – torn away also from a world about which we know almost nothing? They return more frequently than comets do, in fact. It would be better, then, to speak of them as loyal satellites, a bit capricious and therefore even troublesome: they appear, disappear, suddenly come back to badger our memory at night when we cannot sleep. But, little as we may care to, as our hearts tell us to, we can also observe them at will, coldly, scrutinize their shadows, colors, and relief. Only, they are dead stars: from them we shall never grasp anything other than the certainty that we have already seen them, examined them, questioned them without really understanding the laws that the line of their mysterious orbits obeyed.”
“We must forget in order to remain present, forget in order not to die, forget in order to remain faithful… Memories are crafted by oblivion as the outlines of the shore are created by the sea.” from Oblivion, Marc Augé