Sinister: A Greek Ink Polaroid

[Dahling]

Um, this isn't from me, so don't reply to my address.  This post is from
Miss Dahling [dahling at ismydarling.co.uk], who is (a) stuck in the nursery
and (b) stuck in Athens. She would be out of the nursery by now because
she's a previously-mature listee who has returned from beyond the seas;
but she's not because Honey is on holiday.  Honey: I hope you don't mind
me doing this, but she promised she'd make up for it by being *extra* nice
to you when she comes to visit.

(oh, I had to think up the subject.  Sorry, dahl, if you think it's crap.
 bye everyone, will)

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[start reading here]


Whatever happened to those verbal photographs? Mine would look like
this, I suppose:

There is a heat wave, and I defy it, going into the streets to escape
the insufferable closeness of my fifth-floor apartment. Everything is
closed. The shopkeepers are inside, huddled with their children around
air conditioners like ovens. I pass a park where old men gather. They
line up and jeer and I clench my fists and jaw in anger. I'm not
particularly pretty, but it doesn't matter, because I am so obviously a
foreigner, and therefore easy in their eyes. Water drips on the sidewalk
from air conditioners overhead. Instead of avoiding the shower, I
purposefully get wet. The droplets seem to sizzle for a second on my
burning shoulders before evaporating. 

The heat, so loathsome before, now seems cozy. It tickles my skin and
enfolds me in its embrace. Any embrace is welcome about now. Why am I
here, where everyone is a stranger, where every glance is potentially
lecherous and completely unwelcome? Once so full of ambition, I now
spend my days in bed, my nights playing solitaire until my eyes hurt.
And when I close them, I dream of people I have never met, but who would
undoubtedly change my life forever.

I head for the shade of a cafe.  All around me, the cacophony of foreign
sounds clouds my hearing. I imagine they are having very important
conversations that I will never understand. Maybe they are exploring the
meaning of life and, discovering it, will turn to share it with me, but
it will fall on ignorant ears. But no, I understand some words. They are
only discussing dinner, and the weather.

The cafe is placed irreverently atop a metro stop. The tables shake as a
train passes underneath and I wonder how this place became so popular.
All the tables are full. People strain to be heard over the noise of the
station. The sun beats down on the pavement, sending up heat waves that
make everyone look hazy.

I watch as couples meet, as parties take out their backgammon boards and
teen girls try to mask their furtive glances. The men don't bother. They
stare openly and plan their attacks. The waiters hang about listlessly
and I imagine they are playing little games, trying to determine where
everyone is from. A starving kitten sways under a table, unnoticed,
except by an old man who clicks away on his beads and does not seem to
care.

A crazy man wearing only a pair of shorts and a two-prong beard runs
down the street, attacking cars, and holds up two fingers at me. There
is an accident and the old man is hit. He lies there, a little stunned,
dead perhaps. No, he jumps up and resumes his ranting.

I cry a little, despite myself. Maybe he's just trying to be understood
but is not using the right words, like me. Maybe he is also lost,
looking for love, or even a friend, in a foreign, uninviting land. Maybe
he sees something others do not.

Sometimes I think there is nothing more glorious in the Athenian summer
than rain. I have never known such rain - so pure and cleansing. It
comes in unexpected bursts, after weeks of searingly hot, sweaty
dinginess, and gently rubs away all the filth. It pulls down the
pollution and runs yellow from the sidewalks, collecting in the slick
streets in great pools. People run outside to briefly take it all in,
then run back inside a little wet, and laughing. It is over almost as
suddenly as it began, leaving behind a freshness hard to describe - like
breaking free from the inside of a car that has been collecting heat,
ozone and a little exhaust for hours. You gasp in quick breaths and feel
your pores opening to suck it all in. 

Okay, enough of that already. I hope you are all keeping yourself
well-fed and slept and free of disease. Hospitals are no fun, especially
for sensitive people who find themselves in foreign lands. 

I like seeing all these skinny sensitive boys transformed into sinister
studs.

I am too poor to buy Jonathan David. I am falling behind. But it doesn't
bother me as much as it used to. I've been relating more and more lately
to Aden's ``Scooby Doo.'' I suppose that makes me old, doesn't it?
Hmm...

Love and other indoor sports,

Dahling


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