Bedtime Stories

Photo by Robert Valenzuela

Nestled in the crevices of my mind, Behind all that is real and sublime.

Time slows down in the fading embraces, chances lost and found in between the sheets, in glimpses of past dreams.

Passion, Obsessions, Connections open to interpretation.

Lessons learned, hearts burned, bodies yearn for touch earned. Fingers learn to feel again, lost on the cacophony of explosions at dawn.

Night time stories told on the inches of skin, revealing the softness and harshness within, and giving me an internal battle I won’t ever win.

Liquid courage and sin. Loving the skin I’m in.

Letting your touch take my shape in between these sips of gin, like poison.

You grin hiding the pain and longing for something real, I (we) steal these folds of fabric to cover the passion within.

And then quiet again.

And this feeling of loss again.

while the blue skies & pink shades cascade through my mind again.

This time is just for fun. I tell myself.


Nestled in the crevices of my mind,

Stands time.


Sublime caresses, as I undress my soul one orgasm at a time.

Cheap wine running through my veins coveting time.

Switching my brain off to the past pains, and enjoying long embraces as I untangle my mind.

Talking in tongues, letting you in my garden where sacred spaces take shape, as you have decided to mold me, hold me close to the fire within.

I’m in.

This time it’s for real.

A Guide to Love & Desire

“It’s possible to love a human being if you don’t know them too well.” –

Charles Bukowski

Love is…

In order for any of us to completely understand and accept love, we have to understand what love is not. We often confuse love for a lot of things, that simply aren’t love. For example desire and love don’t often go hand in hand. Desire is lustful, passionate, unending, unfulfilled, hungry, thirsty, creepy, unvarnished, jealous, erratic, stupid and very insecure. Lust is carnal, all consuming, addicting, dangerous and sometimes clandestine. Hate well, that’s definitely not love.

Love is secure. Love is steady, knowing, calm, compassionate, giving, bountiful and glorious. Love is the glue. Love (like one of my favorite bands wrote) is all you need. Yet we still confuse love for all that it is not. We as humans have the capacity to love, be in love, and love people and beings who aren’t like us, don’t speak like us, don’t share the same story as us and don’t come from us. I’ve written in past blog posts about the 7 types of love. The ancient Greeks had many different expressions for love. Erotic love, brotherly love (yes that kind of love ), love of a parent to a child, love of all humanity, longing pained love (that achy breaky heart kind of love), playful love (flirty yummy delicious), and self love. All these types of loves coexist, they are not mutually exclusive and yes we can love two (or more) people at the same time. One thing love is NOT is stingy.

Love is Not…

Nothing else is a replacement or a stand in for love. Love in all its forms, shapes and versions, is in its core without discrimination, distinction or agenda; pure. Love is equal opportunity, bi, trans, tall, short, big, small, all inclusive and all encompassing. LOVE IS LOVE. Control is not love, abuse is not love, deception is not love, war is not love, organized religion is not love, fanaticism is not love, nationalism is not love, fear is not love, force is not love, lies are not love, hate is not love reversed. Love sees all, there is no exception.

So while love seems to get far less advertising than it should, and is often mistaken for its poor, imitations; here are my personal favorite expressions of messy, erotic, playful, flirty, solid, wholesome love, a little lust and everything in between.

Love is : Poetry

Two of my favorite poems about love. One is a monologue for a play called Crave by one of my favorite playwrights Sarah Kane; (thank you to my friends in Greece for reminding me)

Full Monologue :
And I want to play hide-and-seek
and give you my clothes
and tell you I like your shoes
and sit on the steps while you take a bath
and massage your neck and kiss your feet and hold your hand
and go for a meal and not mind when you eat my food
and meet you at Rudy’s and talk about the day
and type your letters and carry your boxes
and laugh at your paranoia
and give you tapes you don’t listen to
and watch great films and watch terrible films
and complain about the radio
and take pictures of you when you’re sleeping
and get up to fetch you coffee and bagels and Danish and go to Florent and drink coffee at midnight
and have you steal my cigarettes and never be able to find a match
and tell you about the the programme I saw the night before
and take you to the eye hospital
and not laugh at your jokes
and want you in the morning but let you sleep for a while
and kiss your back and stroke your skin
and tell you how much I love your hair your eyes your lips your neck your breasts your arse your
and sit on the steps smoking till your neighbour comes home
and sit on the steps smoking till you come home
and worry when you’re late
and be amazed when you’re early
and give you sunflowers
and go to your party and dance till I’m black
and be sorry when I’m wrong
and happy when you forgive me
and look at your photos
and wish I’d known you forever
and hear your voice in my ear and feel your skin on my skin
and get scared when you’re angry
and your eye has gone red and the other eye blue
and your hair to the left and your face oriental
and tell you you’re gorgeous and hug you when you’re anxious
and hold you when you hurt
and want you when I smell you
and offend you when I touch you and whimper
when I’m next to you and whimper
when I’m not and dribble on your breast and smother you in the night and get cold
when you take the blanket and hot when you don’t and melt
when you smile and dissolve
when you laugh
and not understand why you think I’m rejecting you when I’m not rejecting you
and wonder how you could think I’d ever reject you
and wonder who you are but accept you anyway
and tell you about the tree angel enchanted forest boy who flew across the ocean because he loved you
and write poems for you and wonder why you don’t believe me
and have a feeling so deep I can’t find words for it
and want to buy you a kitten I’d get jealous of because it would get more attention than me
and keep you in bed when you have to go
and cry like a baby when you finally do
and get rid of the roaches
and buy you presents you don’t want
and take them away again
and ask you to marry me
and you say no again
but keep on asking
because though you think I don’t mean it
I do always have from the first time I asked you
and wander the city thinking it’s empty without you
and want what you want
and think I’m losing myself but know I’m safe with you
and tell you the worst of me
and try to give you the best of me
because you don’t deserve any less
and answer your questions when I’d rather not
and tell you the truth when I really don’t want to
and try to be honest because I know you prefer it
and think it’s all over but hang on in for just ten more minutes before you throw me out of your life
and forget who I am
and try to get closer to you because it’s a beautiful learning to know you
and well worth the effort and speak German to you badly and Hebrew to you worse
and make love with you at three in the morning
and somehow
communicate some of the overwhelming
I have for you.
Sarah Kane (3 February 1971 – 20 February 1999) English Playwright

My second favorite poem about love, lust and erotic love is by none other than…. E.E Cummings

I Like My Body When It Is With Your

i like my body when it is with your
body. It is so quite new a thing.
Muscles better and nerves more.
i like your body.  i like what it does,
i like its hows.  i like to feel the spine
of your body and its bones,and the trembling
-firm-smooth ness and which i will
again and again and again
kiss, i like kissing this and that of you,
i like, slowly stroking the,shocking fuzz
of your electric furr,and what-is-it comes
over parting flesh….And eyes big love-crumbs,

and possibly i like the thrill

of under me you so quite new

Love is: Music

Everything love wants to express, it does through song, through lyrics, through the beat and the rhythm of music. Any time I’ve wanted to express love for someone I try to do in with music. The list is endless but these are some of my favorite “love” songs.

Nouvelle Vague- Fade Out Lines

Jolene by Dolly Parton- Remix by Todd Terje

Etta James- A Sunday Kind Of Love

I’ve got you Under My Skin (original Frank Sinatra) by – Ben L’Oncle
My Funny Valentine- Chet Baker

Tom Waits- Hope I don’t fall in love with you

Nothing Compares 2U- Prince

Bruce — I’m on Fire (original edit)

Elton John – Tiny Dancer

All in all… there are far more songs about love, longing, togetherness, sex, cigarettes and booze then there is about hate. I figure in the end of this little chess game called life, Love wins.


“Sex is kicking death in the ass while singing.”

Charles Bukowski

I don’t owe you Sex- Part. 1

When sex is seen as a favor for good behavior what do you do?

I have often been placed in this predicament (as many women have) when either men I’ve gone on a date with or have been with for a certain amount of time, feel it’s their god given right to get sex just because they did something “nice” for me, or they felt I owed them. In their mind sex is some sort of reward. And by nice I am not talking about saving my life, or buying me a very expensive car, which in this case heck why not right? (just kidding!) But to those who do, more power to you.

I’ve wondered how this expectation came about. Is it their upbringing? Is it society in general? Is the prevalence of transactional and power play sexual encounters just a male mentality? In all the instances of “expected sex”, I wondered (as many women do), If I owed these men something, because that was the approach or the explanation given to me. This implied, or expected reward for good behavior sent me into a moment of self reflection. Did I invite this? Do I owe them some sort of explanation as to why I don’t want to have sex with them? Is this really being asked of me? And what allows for such an expectation?

Looking back at the events that lead to these still unanswered questions, I have yet to understand how the dynamics between men and women are formed, in allowing such expectations to exist, and why we accept living in a society that still creates them.

Case №1 — New York fall 2013

New York fall 2013. Having freshly arrived a few months earlier, I was still bouncing around from home to home and job to job. I was still insecure about my decision to drop my life in Athens, and live in a new city with absolutely zero job prospects. My surviving skills needed sharpening while sustaining myself on the very little money I had saved up. After feeling somewhat settled in and with the help of friends, I found a part time job as a dog walker for a company in Manhattan, but this was hardly enough to keep me afloat. Unlike many Greeks emigrating to the U.S I wanted no part in asking for handouts or favors; I knew full well what working with, and alongside Greek business owners could entail. Just because I was Greek, didn’t mean I cared to or wanted to immediately work in the Greek community, and despite my general rule to stay away from the insulated world of the Greek-American diaspora; I had a need to connect with “my people” and maybe find a better job suited to my education and skills.

After many inquiries and searches, I was introduced to an up and coming Greek American social coordinator, banker, and well known fixture in the Greek American community. Having spoken several times about potential job opportunities, we agreed to meet up in person, after maintaining email communication for several months.

After a pleasant dinner at a Greek restaurant in Astoria, and a somewhat general but also flirtatious conversation, he paid the bill and hailed me a cab to where I was staying. As we continued our conversation and fun banter in the backseat of a cab, he proceeded to corner me and get as close to me as possible. After trying quite a few times to kiss me, and repeating several times that we could end up at his place to fuck. I pleasantly thwarted his advances, and in the end pretty much had to push him off me with a smile. Beyond the dinner I had zero intention of sleeping with this man, and made zero allusions as such.

I got out of the cab, sent him on his merry way and pretty much knew I would never see him again. Upon arriving at my home I got a text message. “Why did you have dinner with me and let me kiss you, if you didn’t intend of having sex with me? You mislead me and that was a waste of my time.” It got me seriously thinking what exactly in my demeanor, our conversation or agreeing to go to dinner with this man gave him the idea that I was open to any kind of further contact? Did he think he was paying for sex with dinner? Or that a dinner was enough to warrant some sort of sexual favor?

This is not the first time or the last time this has occurred, and to be clear not all situations end up like this. Not all men or women for that matter are that manipulative, yet the idea of sex as a commodity never really appealed to me and certainly not as a reward for “good behavior”. I have experienced instances where, seemingly powerful people, and men in particular; like to wield their power in a sexual way and for the most part do so without repercussions. Those same people feel that sexual reward is par for the course, while blatantly stating that: “if I buy you dinner, take you out, get you a cab ride home; or do you a favor, I’m getting what I paid for, and If you don’t comply, I’m wasting precious time If you don’t deliver.” In all these instances, of sexual powerplay, I was never in a position of power. I was either broke, in some need, or seemed lesser or weaker than I actually was. This clarified in my mind what all sex, and power play games have in common.

Blatant insecurity.

Despite any unpleasant interactions I’ve experienced over the years with situations like this; I never felt I had to repay any dept or favors. My experiences did however make me think twice before accepting any further dinner invitations.

Share your story or stories of predicaments like this – I’d love to hear from men and women who might have been placed in similar (unwanted) reward sex situations. 

The Groove on Repeat

The needle crackles as it presses upon the same tune.
With every turn you short-changed yourself.
Every weak, manipulative, broken man you could find, THAT was your prince charming.
The men who hated, who you were, what you stood for, who had zero interest in
knowing you…
those men who automatically assumed you would put up with their
broken record… the same sad song.
On repeat… like a needle stuck on a vinyl record groove.
You dug deep to find that pure unadulterated shit.
Those B sides no one else would listen to
Your move….my prince.
Flip it to the other side.
I know those girls, ladies, women well.
I cultivated them and then… ravaged them.
Prime rib with a side of, hell-bent on making you feel inadequate.
Thirsty men prey upon troubled souls, those which they helped create.
This endless supply of oppression, degradation, obsession, attention seeking
targeting anything that seems the least bit feminine.
You’re been handed an unequal life from the start
Convinced you are worse than, lesser than, below us.
Yet….We are you. You are us.
But we’re out of touch…
Like a one hit wonder, never to be heard from again.
Stuck in the back of a track list long…
We don’t adore the feminine, oh that faggot I’m not him…
Self hate is a horrible thing to waste precious time on.
In order to love us you must love yourselves.
I’m not talking in clichés, this is the real thing.
Smashing the record against the wall… stop listening to that crap.
The deal with this division was someone else’s decision… marking for a collision course
to ourselves.
Look up…. that glass ceiling is covering you too.
Flip it.

Tainted Fruit-

Mural by @FKDL– Bushwick, Brooklyn NY

The delicate insignificance of your smile
was quietly encouraged by you.
Overwhelmed by your self importance
you over estimate your value and weight.
Acting like an emotional cheapskate.
                                               .   .    .
Shameless self promotion causing the death of substance at your feet.
But you won’t admit defeat.
You would rather die than see the other side of the coin.
A Trojan horse infiltrating the souls of those who cross your path.
A monster in sheep’s clothing.
                                              .    .    .
Beware of my wrath.
It’s deadly and never misses the mark.
Cheap thrills don’t purchace a place in my heart.
It’s a stark contrast to a chorus of lies and ego boosting shots.
I tell the truth and it’s not pretty, I’m gritty.
I’m the real deal.
You try to steal my thunder but you fall and crack when you’re exposed to the light.
                                           .   .   .
And still… and still
I fall hard for my lesser self.
The one that believes you to be mighty and me a speck of dust on your shoes.
I lose myself in your world of titans and and one eyed thieves.
I neglect the divine femininity that will break it all apart into a million little pieces.
                                        .    .    .
I won’t be this, weak little thing for you.
My roots are deep and my fruit is luscious.
I’m a wild child I’ll stick to your subconscious like sweet nectar.
You tasted my juices and spit them out.
That’s not what I’m about.
Time is of the essence and in order to bear fruit
we must rise above low expectations.
But still… I fall…

A New Feminine


I recently attended a  workshop and discussion on Tantra as a methodology and philosophy. In my 20 years of yoga practice, I am still learning of this vast body of knowledge, of which I have explored very few aspects of.

For any one curious about Tantra, its origins its philosophy and its many offshoots; thousands of books have been written on the matter, some from a Yoga perspective, some from a spiritual practice and of course the more widely talked about and frequently advertised sexual explorations.

The divine feminine/ masculine the transformation of energy and sexual energy into something spiritual is a multi layered and multi faceted subject. It’s not just about sex. My problem with the workshop I attended, and many more that are out there on the philosophy of Tantra; is that most people will reduce this sacred ancient tradition to a new spice in their sexual exploration cabinet.

How do we deeply connect to these concepts without distorting them? How do we show reverence and respect for such traditions without transforming them into sound bites, easy quotes and convenient tricks?

For what seems to be the “the meeting of man and woman; the transformation of energy through sex, love and meditation. ” (Osho) becomes a gimmick and a pick up line.

Tapping into the deeper layers of Shiva and Shakti energy within us, the inner masculine and inner feminine traits take time, and deep devotion. In this fast paced world of instant pleasure, and porn culture, I’m afraid these practices are somewhat lost to most who seek to understand them.

For what modern feminism has sadly become is this man hating, castrating society and then the eventual rise of women in a man made world. Yes women have been oppressed, men have been given some sort of “god given” right to be superior, and the patriarchal societies have been built to oppress that which they come from. Yes all of this is true but what we’ve left out is the third aspect of the union between male and female energy and that is the divine.

Yet we’ve grown up thinking (myself included), that equality means denying our nature, our amazing feminine nature, and distorting it to making women think they are always  inferior and men superior. This way of thinking leaves women with the only choice left to them to even the playing field in this distorted world, and that is “to act” like men… which isn’t the fucking point.

If any one is interested in Reading more about Tantra here is a beginner’s guide :

Tantra Illuminated

Tantra : The Supreme Understanding, OSHO

Liquid Courage

You drew me to the water’s edge and let me taste your smile.

I laughed at all your silly moves, your stupid jokes just made me swoon,
The way you adjust your shirt, was magical to me.
I stare at our reflections wondering what radical world I live in that gets to have you in it.
I’m in too deep this strange mystique is making my body overflow.
Love is like a river flowing through me.
Paint brushed skies and lines. Bridges to your heart are paved with golden light.
I just might need a minute to breathe.
Like ivory and ebony you play my tune perfectly.
Something’s come over me… it’s making the broken parts seem whole again
once again I can see the beauty within me.
My body was made to be next to yours,
a pull so profound it’s like breathing.
You make my heart swell and my chest expand
and then I remember to take a breath again.
It’s like cheating death.

Achilles Heel-(Αχίλλειος Πτέρνα) – Greek Version


Καθρέπτες αντανακλούν σκοτεινά πρόσωπα που χάθηκαν σε απομονωμένες γωνίες και πονεμένες καρδιές

Ξεσκεπάζουν μυστικά και άβολες ματιές και χαμένες ευκαιρίες

Χείλη σφιχτά και κλεμμένες… τρομαγμένες ματιές

Κουρασμένα βλέμματα χάνονται σε φωτεινές οθόνες, εκτρέπουν, αποφεύγουν, απορρίπτουν.

Παίζουν το ρόλο ξανά σε μια παράσταση που κανείς δεν θέλει να δει.

Και το μόνο που βγαίνει είναι μια άφωνη κραυγή.


Πως μετράς μιαν αγάπη που σκίστηκε στα δύο;

Δημιουργήσαμε μια ιστορία που κατασπαράζεται με τη πρώτη ευκαιρία

Είναι ξεκάθαρο ότι σκόνταψα σε μια φαντασία



Δε δέχομαι άντρα σε τιμή ευκαιρίας.

Δεν ακροβατώ πια μεταξύ φθοράς και αφθαρσίας

Μπροστά στην μετριότητα δεν στέκει το τέλειο αλλά η ουσία.

Δεν δίνω πια σημασία σε αυτά.

Πόσο θα αντάλλαζες τη βόλεψη σου για μιαν αγάπη αληθινή;

Μάλλον δε θα μάθεις ποτέ.

Η απορία παραμένει στεγνή.


My Achilles Heel (Αχίλλειος Πτέρνα)

Αχίλλειος Πτέρνα (Achilles He(A)el)  — photo by Robert V. (@3rd.night)


Reflections of faces getting caught in dark spaces, with wounded hearts.

Secrets revealed in awkward glances and lost chances.

Pursed lips, and stolen glances.

Tired eyes staring into illuminated screens, reflecting, deflecting, rejecting

playing the part in a show that no one cares to watch.

And all I want to do is scream.


How do you measure my love and then tear it apart?

I created a love story and it fell short from the start.

It seems clear that my imagination got the best of me



I no longer can settle for three forths of a man.

I can’t stand (on) mediocrity in the face of perfection.

That no longer holds my attention

Any more.

How much of your comfort would you give up for love?

I guess you will never find out.

A child of two nations

I’m an American girl with a Greek Soul

I’m a Greek girl with an American mind

I thought I was an abomination, a child of two nations

But I’m one of a kind.


I put mind over matter

I put my heart over my mind

Cause it all matters.

I’m often blind to the lesser than, the because of, the despite that

I’ll change at a drop of a hat, or I won’t change at all.


I put up walls to protect what’s mine.

I’m spontaneous and grounded

Loving and jealous

Mindful and impatient

Caring and vengeful.

I’ll cut you like a knife and heal you like a summer breeze

I’m a big tease

I run free.


Fire is my middle name,

Desire drives my path through pain.

Again and again… I repeat cycles

Cause I have a knack for the strange and profane.

I’m a little insane.


Too much, too lonely, too fearful at times.

I need to be heard at times

I scream to the hills at times

I cross the line at times

I try to find the good in everyone at times

I often waste my time

I know it’s not a crime

But I’m no Angel….