Prozac People

I'm sick and tired of you. Yeah, you. The one that feels the need to maintain equal distances from everything. The one that is absolutely certain they are the voice of reason. All of you. I'm tired of your smug superiority and the obvious conviction that you are somehow more educated, more knowledgeable than me, than us.

No, I don't care that I sound fanatical to you. Why would I, since you so obviously confuse fanaticism with passion/pathos. I care a little that you call me stupid, or ignorant, but not because I value your opinion, no. I care because it is frustrating to be called that by idiots.

I can't, in good conscience, suffer you anymore. Your opinion is no longer a valid one. It is not informed and as such is not important. I know that if it were up to you, the world would be a flatness with no end in sight. You would playfully joke about political correctness while meticulously upholding it, all the while using it as a mantle for your various inequities.

I know that if I let you have your way, there would be no ups or downs. If we let you have your way, we would have to suffer not only you but the endless violences of our daily lives. It would be miseries all the way down and you would make us feel guilty about the way we felt, thought, talked and acted. Really, I know that if you could, you would probably medicate us.

So, I suppose this is my very roundabout way of saying, fuck you rationalists. You can suck my hairy irrational ass.

Kukeri

Kukeri is a traditional Bulgarian ritual to scare away evil spirits, with costumed men performing the ritual. The costumes cover most of the body and include decorated wooden masks of animals (sometimes double-faced) and large bells attached to the belt. Around New Year and before Lent, the kukeri walk and dance through the village to scare evil spirits away with the costumes and the sound of the bells, as well as to provide a good harvest, health, and happiness to the village during the year. 

sources: 1, 2

Some call me Hermes

Thomas Gandharas, also known as "the Black Bandit", came from Akri Elassonas, became an outlaw in July 1918, was a partner of Georgios Velonis and having deserted the army, was planning to kill a landowner who had raped his wife.

 
A little later, Gandharas and Velonis were caught and on July 21st 1919 the court martial of Larissa sentenced them to 14 years imprisonment. On November 21st 1921 Thomas Gandharas escaped from the prison of Larissa and a year later a bounty was given for his head. Thomas Gandharas had a brother who was also a bandit, Georgios Gandharas, who was killed in February 1920 in Koumaria Elassonas, in a conflict with a pursuit squad. With him, the Bandit Manatsas was also lost.

One night, the outlaw Gandharas wore his foustanela (greek kilt) and his silver tsaprazia (greek male jewelery) and went secretly to the home of the famous photographer from Trikala, Athanasios Manthos. He descended quietly from the roof, came in and woke Manthos to come photograph him with his bandit gang, because he understood that their end was near.

Thomas Gandharas was killed on August 5th 1923. He was killed in Oxia of Deskati Grevenon, near Mavreli, by the mavrelite hunter Georgios Siakavaras, who participated in the pursuit squad that hunted him. Gandharas' head was cut, was transferred to Gerakari and then exposed to public view in Kalambaka on August 6th 1923, as an example to all.

Thomas Gandharas left a son and two daughters, Eleni and Vasiliki. He had time to give Eleni, as an infant, to be guarded by the mayor of Kalambaka, Rammides. The two women met for the first time in 1998.