Vassilis Gkokias vit à Athènes, il est performer. Maurice Blanchot est traduit en grec, et il nous livre une version très personnelle (et en anglais) de L’espace littéraire.
The text is a personal bridge,a thank note for a fruitful meet.
Please use it on will,if considered to can stand utilitaire and readable from others.
I ll be glad.
PS : I cant resist to PS.
Its a nice way to learn french words, apart your news, these mails. Heavy rain is coming. Better walk now before lose Sunday walking.
…
Hello there.
Happy to hear from you.
Wish you are fine.
What a Night time with this dyslectic symptoms,coming from tireness,that allow to invent new vocabulary on the keyboard.
…
These are the last days. Very in love with the almost new [illisible] and three days and nights away from [illisible] time, I am just watching rythms of life than following, only as a matter of saving from the stock energy for the forthcoming days on one, two, three islands of Ionian Sea.
As long as text is also a biochemical product at one sight, words are being hided right now, asking for open roads, blue sky and green water to walk, to calm and to swim, to change roles and meanings.
It was two hours after returning from work,a noisy environment full of organic but expensive products and technically created biological mortal people. I remember the time because of a strange conversation with the girl from the small market in the corner. It was the first time I saw her walking away from the cashier, always a body without legs, spectacle de marrionettes, and we keep the memory just as a story of the history, a small victory against daily history. Smily girl good bread with 0,60 cents. Everything a man needs folllowed by his awakeness after the pressing everyday urban bloodless battle, thats why psychokilling battle.
I came back home ready for cooking after rejecting an electric green colored food delivery catalogue – the unique rejection of the day so far, hoping to be the last. Onions, two small tight potatoes, oil, pepper, salt, garlic, tomato and this brave poignée de lentilles. And 45 minutes of this timeless time. 20 minutes remained for the soup to be ready and to fill my deep plate, the transparent cap of the casserole was sweatening and I was very devoted, lost in the procedure and the reality forgot me also. Then was.
Two clear voices came from the living room. On loudless steps I approached the room and from the corner I let my head out of the wall. On the two seat leathered sofa was lying a well known face. In front of the laptop on the chair was standing a well standing man. They were speaking in an, at first hearing, unknown to me language, that very fast I understood that it was french. Enough. Milan Kudera is arguing with Roland Barthes in my house ? With what reason ? At this hour of the day ? If only i have eaten I could try to catch some words. Only some words. Enough.
Back to the kitchen preparing three plates with lentilles and feta cheese. Entered the living room without apologising for my rush. Heard something about the plaisir du texte. Heard something about les testaments trahis. Very hungry to say anything I offered the two plates and they grab them to my surprise, after switching on the volume to hear a favorite song to accompany the lunch. Somebody said something about postmode.