For the entrapped friends…

Latrakia

For  the entrapped friends…

Whose bodies became their prison…

Who lost their will and desire to live…

For those friends that my hands are bound tight  and i can not help them…

Days passing by and they lose their mind, feeling alone and desperate…

Their bodies ravaged and isolated…

Don Quixotes of a dream, for a dream…

They were insisting fighting windmills for a lifetime…

Respect…

Silence…

Who grieves for those poetic bodies?

 

latrakia women's bodies

Our bodies, our movable property and our unnegotiable ownership on them. For centuries women bodies are subjected to society’s norms, to religions rules, to traditional communitie’s customs, to patriarchy’s demands and it’s stereotypes.

In all those perspectives is that women’s bodies endeavor to fit, trapped along with their feelings. It is noticed to their nonverbal language. There are liquids of truth in their shapes and the way they move.

You can stare bodies tired from life’s severity, with scars like awards on them and other times unbelievably poetic, overwhelmed by emotions and not rarely enigmatic, having hidden stories to share.

Society has sanctified and hollyfied those that are purposed to give birth, feed and raise children. The majority of them are pushed to formulate unhuman shapes, following strict diets and even worst making plastic surgeries, to meet the criteria of role-models projected by mass media culture. As they were dolls, they are told how to be dressed, to make up and fest by an industry that lurks to make profit by them. Bodies as canvas for more consumerism, victims of an image and a life-style.

They are screaming angrily and some others seeking for love. They have been told to tolerate the unbearable, used as sexual objects for giving pleasure. Bodies peaceful and balanced, scattering happiness, athletic and flexible making records, notty and joyful, spreading love, transparent and vulnerable.

Bodies abused literally and metaphorically, convinced to shallow the dominate ideology. I feel them like fingerprints of society’s preferences, giving endless efforts to be likable, to be lovable, charmful, workable, efficient.

Priests and saviors, image makers and marketers, patriarchy’s dominate ideology and the unprecedented behavior of women criticize with sarcasm and cruelty their selves and other women.

-Who grieves for those poetic bodies and their various abusement?

Are you an unconscious victim of those regulations? What is the latest trend? In which rules we have to adjust ourselves lately? Are you feeling obeying to those norms and the same time suffocating by them? So many hidden meanings behind human’s bodies and especially women’s. Are you raising your voice against the unfair treatment? Are you one of those pioneer women who have the loyialty to raise baby-girls and young-girls with the deep sensation that are human beings, who deserves respectiveness love and freedom, far away from barriers which limited their options and their dreams? Because behind those bodies are hidden human creatures with their agonies, their dreams, their perfections and imperfections of their mortality.

Who grieves for those poetic bodies and their beautiness?

I am responsible, you are responsible for the favor of the following generations. In owner of all the dynamic women who standed beyond and further the chariot of any ideology and gained rights of paramount importance for the rest of us in a society that is still deafing.

Had women educated themselves more crucially and widely, they would have liberated themselves from norms and stereotypes.

Concept/Role – Play: Latrakia

Photo Credits: Dimitris Tsiapas

Special thanks to Tomas and his hand contribution to this photo shoot! 🙂

Which one you wear and for what?

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The thousand masks of yours

With the thousand enigmas and secrets behind it

How far I should go to solve their mysteries?

Curves and edges slightly distinguished

Who is the real you?

Roles that we play, masks that we wear

Sometimes for a while, some others for a life time

From how young do we learn to use them?

Masks covering our vulnerability and fragileness

Purposed to attract, to dominate, to conquer, to trick, to pretend, to hide what we really feel

Masks like a cloth in your size

Like a glove in your hand

Like a loop in your neck

Like a theatrical character seeking for action…

 

Concept / Role-play: Latrakia

Photo credits: Dimitris Tsiapas

What the beast within whispers to you…

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Today is another day, worst than the others

Today I am angry

I want to scream

My voice to be heard by you, you, you, you, you, you, you and YOU!

At the other half of the planet

Today all around me useless and without hope

All my dreams ashes

Today I do not know where to put stay, my soul to rest

All black and pessimistic

A melancholia from the abyss of my mind

A hole in my heart

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Today I am crying dry tears

For a pain that I can not articulate

An awful pain that does not let me breath

Today some old scars of mine reminds me hurting stories

My all, a broken chord. No rhythm, no melody

The beast inside me is eating my flesh and drinking my blood once again

………………………………………………………………………………..

………………………………………………………………………………..

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-How can I placate you my dear? tell me…

– How can I calm you down? Whisper to me the way…

-You are a part of me. Do not forget!

-Let it down, the two of us do not have a battle

-Stop conquering me with your severity

-Should I feed you sympathy and love?

-Should I discipline you by force?

This is the very question

-What are your desires? Trust me your wishes

-You do not fool me. You are the wild me

-Sh…sh..sh..sh…sh… my darling, quiet….

-I will lull you to fall asleep….

Concept / Role-play: Latrakia

Photo credits: Dimitris Tsiapas

Priceless hands!

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They give hugs, they touch with tenderness or coarseness, they drive dexterously away the sorrow, they give generously and sweepingly happiness. Occasionally could cause pain, perpetually communicate with their own language.

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Vital touches by hands, to my hands, to my body. Unbearable life without hands touching me, embracing me, show me their love! All the special hands of my beloved people. They taught me to share feelings in silence out of the need to talk.

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Different types of hands, distinctive kinds of touch. Hands skinny and slender or on the contrary fat and more velvet. Other times rough like stone or fragile and delicate like glass. Skillful hands, sometimes exquisite, others clumsy and graceless, always lovable.

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Treasured, small hands from perfect, tiny people…

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All my life priceless hands, unforgettable, constantly expressing their idiosyncratic uniqueness!

Those shoes… are not mine!

They force me to fit in their size…

But those shoes… are not mine!

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They want to make me believe that they are fine!

But I keep insisting, they are not mine!

If I wear them I will be on their side…

A world of promises will sunrise!

To their society’s club first and high!

An excellent android of their type, willing to applaud and cheer for fun!

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Those desires are not meant to be mine

Why they try to nail them in my mind?

They press me to wear them no matter what

And if I do so, I will be cosy and styled…

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They mouth to wear them so as to be alike

But I keep insisting, those shoes are not mine!

In a world upside down…

I will keep seeing things from my fucking side!

A box in the ground to hide from fears…

latrakia

Home…

A tiny place on the round planet

A shelter for dreams, warming our hopes!

A nest of our hurting ego from daily fights…

A box that we live our lives ’til we die…

Few square meters to feel safe and rest

This is where our vulnerable souls find peacefulness and breath

This is where our bodies shamelessly undress the roles playing outer space

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But, oh! my!

Should Ι remember the dark house of yours, which hosted monsters and raised storms?

Should Ι remember the black house of yours, which trapped your innocence and lead you to the loss?

Should Ι remember homeless people, refugee people, immigrant people, who lost their homes?

Like snails they wander in lands abroad

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A scream for the loss…

A tear for the pain…

Oh! my home, my sweet-sweet home! How much Ι miss you, Ι metic to world’s throng

Precious keys on a chain

My home keys

Your home keys

A box to open and hide from fears

A box in the ground

A nail in heart’s bleed

They will always remind me the home where Ι used to live…

Concept – Role play: Latrakia

Photo credits: Dimitris Tsiapas