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Interpretation of “Street flower” by Maria Spanou or Giorgos Rous - Protesilaos Stavrou: Master feed with all updates

2026-09-21T00:00:00.000Z

For today’s entry in the series I have picked Street flower. It is a love song written and originally performed by Giorgos Rous (Γιώργος Ρους). It was then remixed by Maria Spanou (Μαρία Σπανού), who gave it a slower pace and a stronger sense of brokenheartedness. Here is the version that Maria performs: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ztYW6hKNecs.

And here is the original, which is more upbeat, performed by Giorgos Rous himself: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TFSc7x91EWU. Perhaps it has that superficiality of exuberance because men tend to express their grief through heightened energy. This is how they can be destructive because they are not in control of their emotions. Though when that pain is channelled into creativity, when the man does not give in to the lust for mayhem, it provides the power impulse for cultural realisation and the clarity that is necessary for greatness.

I prefer Maria’s version because her emotional touch, which communicates sadness, is closer in spirit to the lyrics. Though I recognise that she works with the outstanding contribution of Giorgos. This is the beauty of art, after all, but also the diversity of humankind at-large: nobody owns inspiration, nobody owns expression.

Below are the lyrics, my translation of them, and further comments on what I make of this song.

Λουλούδι του δρόμου

Ερμηνεία:  Μαρία Σπανού (Γιώργος Ρους)
Στίχοι:    Γιώργος Ρους
Μουσική:   Γιώργος Ρους


Βρεγμένα χαρτιά και λόγια πνιγμένα
Μέσα στου έρωτα τον μαύρο βυθό
Και λέω πως δεν γράφτηκαν για'μένα
Για να μπορέσω να περάσω κι αυτό
Που όσα με νοιάζουν
Σε σένα όλα μοιάζουν
Κι είναι επικίνδυνο να τ'αρνηθώ
Να κάνω ξανά πως δε σε θέλω
Να αποφασίσω να ντυθώ και να βγω
Να μην πιστεύω πως πονάει η αγάπη

Τώρα είμαι μέσα στη νύχτα
Στη μέση του κόσμου σαν λουλούδι ανθισμένο
Πονάει η αγάπη κι αυτό είναι κάτι
Παρηγοριά κι ελπίδα να περιμένω
Κι έτσι είμαι μέσα στη νύχτα
Λουλούδι του δρόμου από εσένα κομμένο
Πονάει η αγάπη κι αυτό είναι κάτι
Παρηγοριά κι ελπίδα να περιμένω
Σαν λουλούδι ανθισμένο
Για άλλη αγάπη κομμένο

Αθόρυβα όμως νικάει ο χρόνος
Κι είναι επικίνδυνο να μείνω εδώ
Το σπίτι μου τώρα είναι ο δρόμος
Για να μπορέσω να περάσω κι αυτό
Που όσα με ρίχνουν
Εσένα όλα δείχνουν
Κι είναι ανώφελο να το αρνηθώ
Θα κάνω λοιπόν πως δε σε θέλω
Και θ'αποφασίσω να ξεχάσω κι αυτό
Που είπες μια νύχτα πως πονάει η αγάπη

Street flower

Singer:   Maria Spanou (Giorgos Rous)
Lyrics:   Giorgos Rous
Music:    Giorgos Rous


Soaked papers and drowned words
Within infatuation's black depth
And I say they were not written for me
To be able to overcome this as well
That everything I care about
They all look like you
And it is dangerous for me to deny it
And I pretend again to not want you
To decide to dress and go out
To not believe that love hurts

Now I am in the night
In the middle of the world like blooming flower
Love hurts and this is something
Comfort and hope to wait
And thus I am in the night
Street flower picked up by you
Love hurts and this is something
Comfort and hope to wait
Like blooming flower
Picked up for another love

Silently though time wins
And it is dangerous to stay here
My house now is the road
To be able to overcome this as well
That everything which throws me
All point towards you
And it is useless to deny it
I shall pretend then not to want you
And I will decided to forget this too
That you said one night that love hurts

The song starts with the image of notes that are soaked in tears. This makes it a description of what likely was a specific experience of the songmaker or a generalisation that captures the truth of many such moments. The poetic “I” has put to paper thoughts that were troublesome and emotionally charged. In so doing they have released the pain. They have broken free from the obsessive side of infatuation.

This process is painful in itself because it constitutes a rapture. One part of the self is severed and effectively left to wither away, which is what the titular street flower may represent: the innocence of affection that is uprooted, cast aside, and thus consigned to a swift death.

In the first stanza we learn how the poetic first person thinks that those words that were written in tears were not about them. Though this is admittedly a coping mechanism. An innocuous lie to distract from the truth that those words were specifically about their author.

Creativity is an effective way to deal with challenges. It takes an emotion, such as grief, extracts from it its energy to use it as a resource and nullifies the parts that can be harmful. This is true for every propensity that could cause damage, such as anger and frustration. Though it also extends to what people consider positive feelings like admiration and affection.

There are no purely positive or purely negative feelings. Each is both positive and negative. What matters is the degree to which it is expressed and the conditions in which it is made manifest. Anger can be liberating when it engenders the violence that destroys a corrupting influence. Love can be degenerative when it leads to the kind of unconditional support that welcomes the wolf into the flock or, more commonly, when it raises a child to become a spoiled and entitled piece of shit.

The creative mind essentially is the body’s harness. It functions as a transformer of emotions into deeds with a longer-term outlook, which in their finest form are magna opera. It is how, for example, pain stops being painful while remaining there as pain. These are the mechanics at play in the backdrop of the Street flower.

When faced with a blank canvas, those who create in earnest will see their self reflected in their art. Write a journal and hold nothing back: you will not be able to hide anymore. Speak through colours, melodies, dance motions and you will learn to be truthful. This is the artist’s world. It is a feedback loop between their inner state and the works they have put out there. It culminates in the discovery of the self through successive reinventions of the self.

By contrast, the technically minded person is not trained to be honest about their own condition. They are a sharp tool that is perfected for an external application. Internally though they have a lot to learn. To put it schematically, they know how to do a PhD but not how to live. Their mental state is governed by hesitation, perhaps fear, in actually figuring out who they are. In order to not enter the liminality of this world, the space where one learns to be content with who they are, they fall back to being pedantic. They will search for technicalities and definitions, which are assurances of false certitude, just so they do not proceed.

The most creative mind, then, is the one that is both technical in its application and expressive in its constitution. It is the mind that creates entire world of inexhaustible meaning.

Back to the lyrics of Street flower, it speaks of creating the make-belief that love does not hurt, but also of pretending that the poetic “I” does not actually fancy the poetic “you”. The song suggests that this is a fool’s errand. Denying the reality of the feelings does not take them away. It is more reliable to admit what has transpired and treat all the thoughts for what they are. Thus the person may move on to the next stage of their life.

Moving on is not easy because it is akin to homelessness. There is radical uncertainty of what comes next and where to go. It is unknown whether another love will be found and it also is unclear whether that will last or be yet one more injurious experience. We do not have the luxury to remain indecisive and to stand still because time does not wait for us.

Turning the page and then proceeding through action is a form of creativity as well. It accepts the indeterminacy of the situation, the absence of closure, and sets the conditions for something new to take form. This is how there even is a street flower to begin with: it can thrive on a tiny patch of soil that accumulated at the edge of the asphalt. Such is its resilience and want for expression.

About the coolest Seoul neighbourhood and erosion of public spaces - Protesilaos Stavrou: Master feed with all updates

2026-09-20T00:00:00.000Z

Writing for The Guardian, Raphael Rashid comments on the degradation of local culture in a neighbourhood of Seoul, South Korea:

A wave of tourists and visitors has changed the character of the Seoul neighbourhood I live in and helped create a place that no longer feels like home

Raphael’s story is one that many around the world can relate to. It is especially true across much of Southern Europe, including Cyprus where I live.

The environment of individualism and distrust

Gentrification happening to a megacity like Seoul is part of the process. Cities of this scale are fundamentally not geared towards community. The more they grow, the more alienating they become. This is not because of some malevolent scheme at keeping people disunited: it is a side-effect of scale combined with pace.

If we think of a city in abstract terms, we are dealing with a highly dynamic system. People come and go from anywhere. Their connections are not strong enough to prevent them from moving. They do not stay in one place for a long time. They are rootless. This is due to economic activity, which typically is some kind of service or office job.

Offices can be relocated and employees may work from a distance, for example. Even when the workplace remains fixed, the employee may still relocate to another part of the city where rent is more affordable or some other benefits have become present. In this context, it is common to not know one’s neighbours within the same building, let alone the entire block.

Each person is thus reduced to an individual or to a small group like the atomic family. They may still have friends, but getting to meet them typically requires arrangements that are indistinguishable from formal appointment on the agenda. By this I mean that they are the product of concerted action: they do not happen organically without coordination within a given locality. More so when individuals relocate within the city’s boundaries while keeping contact with their old friends from another part of the city.

Combined with the high population count, the individual becomes nameless and invisible. Socialisation is yet another job. If they have a small group of trusted contacts, they can still schedule events with them if salaried work permits, but are otherwise operating as a stranger among strangers.

This is an environment that breeds distrust. If an individual starts greeting passers by on the street, for example, they will be treated with suspicion. And rightly so, given the circumstances, because nobody knows who that person is, what is their background, and what may their motives be. Same idea for neighbours that come and go: they cannot be relied upon.

The process of alienation

The urban environment forges the individualist. Each person realises that they have to fight for themselves or their tiny group against practically everybody else. They must rely on their own means because there is no wider community, no milieu built on trust and solidarity, to fall back to.

Profit thus becomes the singular pursuit of each person and the currency that regulates social relations. Gentrification follows naturally. There will be no restraint in radically altering the character of a neighbourhood because there are no emotional ties involved: it is just another transaction.

Though even without the gentrification of neighbourhoods, there is rampant alienation. With distrust as the backdrop of human relations, the public space becomes increasingly narrower until it is rendered obsolete. It cannot be trusted. Parents, for example, will typically not leave their children unsupervised. They will prefer to keep them confined to four walls, where they can “safely” melt their brain on the computer all day, than go run around carefree.

Adults face a similar challenge. The elderly are easy prey for criminals while women are correctly cautious to move around, especially at night. As gangs become more prevalent, even the toughest men become easy targets, because no amount of physical strength can counter machetes and firearms.

When the public space is not undermined by distrust it is eroded by profiteering. To socialise, each person must effectively pay for everything. These days a mere coffee is a non-trivial expense. Those who are on a tight budget are thus faced with the very real prospect of not socialising as much as they would like to: they are steadily priced out of their humanity.

Couched in those terms, the individual eventually realises that they do not matter. Nobody cares for them. They are estranged from what they thought was their milieu because their milieu was always essentially individualistic and thus not “theirs” in any meaningful way. It was all a lie.

The illusion of choice

The megacity is an environment of caution and fear counterbalanced or otherwise obfuscated by a false sense of ample opportunity.

Adults may choose the city life on the premise that they can seize one of the many opportunities it provides. They believe that there are so many activities they can pursue and places they can socialise in. There are shopping malls, cafeterias, restaurants, theatres, stadia, and more.

Each of those, however, is a for-profit business which means that one’s options are a function of their disposable income. The incentive, then, is to maximise profits, which brings us back to the aforementioned individualism. And when everybody thinks the same way, eventually no amount of profit is enough for the average person.

What practically happens to the city-dweller is that they live with the illusion of choice while settling on a relatively simple routine. Work takes over their lifeworld, as they need that extra profit to keep up with the demands of city life. Their day is spent in commuting and on the job, after which they are too tired to do much else.

The money-centric organisation of society is a pay-to-win scheme writ large that alienates most people while rewarding a tiny minority of ruthless profiteers.

The lack of connection each person has is encapsulated in the fake plants they keep in their room. That plastic cactus on the shelf symbolises the city life they have accepted as normal and desirable.

Mass tourism and ethnicide

[ I have also written about this topic in When your country is a theme park (2025-09-02). ]

Make no mistake: this is not specific to Seoul. I am merely using that article from The Guardian as a pretext for a broader commentary. What I am describing herein is the ordinary experience of the city as such.

The few times I visited that god-forsaken place called “Athens, Greece” I wanted to leave as quickly as possible. Yes, the Parthenon is still there but Athena, the goddess of wisdom, is long gone because the underlying ethos that instituted her as sacrosanct left the moment money was deified. Today’s Athenians love you if you pay well in one of the many pretentious areas or otherwise treat you like a mangy vagabond.

Mass tourism is the bane of our nations. It warps the minds of the locals towards profit-seeking at the expense of local communities. Every random fellow now peddles short-term rental services. They charge a small fortune for a weekend’s stay. The locals are priced out of the market, pushed to the margins of civilisation, and placed on a fast track towards oblivion. Once urban regions are gone, rural areas also fall prey to this omnivorous appetite for money.

This is how I ended up building my simple house in the mountains, for example: accommodation fees not only became exorbitant over the span of a few years but house owners would not even let me in since they prefer short-term rentals to faceless foreigners.

Alienation effectively means that you are not welcome in your own country. You are treated with contempt and derision. Your only way back to a pretence of normality is through money: you buy amiability and are liked for as long as you play that game.

Mass tourism and its flip-side of gentrification are killing our ethnic identity, i.e. ethnicide. Displacement means that we no longer have the chance to form strong connections which, in turn, leads to a diminution in cultural output of a specific ethnic kind. Whatever comes off as local culture is a streamlined simulacrum of so-called “tradition” that exaggerates superficialities in order to entertain stereotypes and cater to the ignorance of tourists.

The nations of the money-god are not content with ruining their densely populated areas. They are doing the same to the entirety of their territory either by selling it off outright to so-called “foreign direct investment” or turning it into a tourist attraction which hates true locals.

In my land, Cyprus, the whole island is being converted into a theme park for the parvenu to live their escapism carefree. All streets are made to look the same. Ancient villages are supposed to follow official directives for what supposedly “traditional” houses look like. It is a shadow play for the nouveau riche to pretend they are gritty village folk when they visit their third house on that one summer weekend.

Previous generations worked with what they could gather from the land. They built tiny houses with shared walls in order to cope with poverty. A large part of the village population would gather to help with construction work. This was a dwelling that was set up adjacent to the person’s relatives. Everybody was involved as a community. They were not following some smug bureaucrat’s inane guidelines; guidelines which, by the by, cost a fortune to comply with and thus have the effect of shifting property to the hands of ever fewer people.

The big bureaucrat and the big moneyman love each other. This is what capitalism is in practice: state intervention in favour of the capital holders; state intervention against community. It consists in the symbiosis of concentrated money and concentrated power, which culminates in gigantism: the propensity to accumulate ever-more resources at the centre against all expression of locality.

Within the context of the aforementioned, gigantism grows in strength because it faces no pushback from local communities. Once everybody is reduced to an individual, they can be dispersed like leaves in the wind. It is just a matter of time before that happens. Whereas those who are tied to their land, their extended family, and their neighbours of several generations, are not going anywhere without a fight. They have roots. They are like the reeds, which might bend but remain in place no matter how heavy the storm is.

What the journalist Raphael Rashid describes in The Guardian is true though is still too polite, as a boutique view of events, to give the proper weight to these phenomena. I hope my language acts as an early alarm mechanism.

There is no reversing this trend by doing more of the same. Unless people change mindset to live a frugal life and to prioritise community within the confines of locality, the money-god will turn us all into sacrificial lambs.

A Big Empty Box of Ideas - Baty.net

2026-09-19T15:04:18.000Z

Pretty much all the time lately.

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Saturday, September 19, 2026 - Baty.net

2026-09-19T12:35:39.000Z

Trimline rotary (2016)

Came pretty close this morning to setting up a Gemini server. That's not something I need right now. If I were to set one up, I'd probably start with Brennan's Creating a Blog in Gemini://

Are we ever going to tire of navel-gazing about algorithms and attention and "kids these days!". I hope so, because I'm tired of it.

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Selfie: ten days after the clean shave - Protesilaos Stavrou: Master feed with all updates

2026-09-19T00:00:00.000Z

I shaved my hair and beard ten days ago. But I have to do it again, which is too much work. Here is the publication from ten days ago: I left the eyebrows.

And here is another picture of it.

So I might let it all grow again!

Friday, September 18, 2026 - Baty.net

2026-09-18T09:45:14.000Z

West Twin Lake (2026)

Definitely going to buy one of these printers: OpenPrinter

I have ordered a Fitbit Air so I guess Google gets all my data now.

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Poem: Dance of the bee-eaters - Protesilaos Stavrou: Master feed with all updates

2026-09-18T00:00:00.000Z

With quarter moon at its apex
and the equinox in sight
the dance of the bee-eaters
celebrates the coming Autumn
Swallow I am and Spring incarnate
on cranes waiting to hop
to fly to the Eastern lands
as travelling merchant
and bearded troubadour
to meet the girl who dreams of becoming
in the eyes of a foreigner
that which her circumstances deny

Thursday, September 17, 2026 - Baty.net

2026-09-17T10:12:44.000Z

Grand Haven (2026)

I would quit all social media, Mastodon included, except that it makes me feel unseen. I don't mind being alone, but I don't enjoy being invisible. On the other hand, maybe being invisible is better than being angry and distracted all the time.

It's my wife's birthday, so today will be spent doing everything and anything she wants to do, because I love her.

Spending nearly all day away from computers is good for me.

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Companies don’t make decisions - Manuel Moreale RSS Feed

2026-09-17T09:05:00.000Z

I feel kinda stupid for even saying this, but it’s probably worth saying anyway: companies are not people. Companies don’t make decisions. Companies don’t decide who they want to donate money to. Companies don’t feel shame. Companies don’t learn from their mistakes. Companies don’t have political orientation. Because companies are legal entities, they're a bunch of papers, letters and numbers. That’s what companies are.

When you’re mad at a company, figure out who is actually responsible for the things you’re mad about, and be mad at them. Because people can be held accountable. There’s a reason why, in 1789, it was people’s heads that were rolling on the ground.

Thank you for keeping RSS alive. You're awesome.

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Français: Inscrire les paroles de «Alors on danse» - Protesilaos Stavrou: Master feed with all updates

2026-09-17T00:00:00.000Z

Comme hier, je vais faire «alla prima» comme toujours l’exercice d’inscrire les parole d’une chanson. C’est encore une opportunité de pratiquer la longue française.

Cette fois je suis sûr que l’artiste existe. Stromae est Belge. Son chanson avec le titre «Alors on danse» est mélodique et profond: nous dansons pour oublier tous les problèmes. Je crois que c’est une bonne idée.

Si je ne comprends pas quelque chose, j’écris ___.

Alors on danse par Stromae


Alors on
Alors on
Qui dit étude dit travail
Qui dit ___ dit ___
Qui dit argent dit dépenses
et qui dit crédit dit créance
Qui dit dette te dit ___
et lui dit assis dans la merde
Qui dit amour dit les ___
dit toujours et dit divorce
Qui dit proche te dit ___
car les problèmes ne viennent pas seuls
Qui dit crise te dit monde
dit famine dit tiers-monde
et qui dit fatigue dit réveil
encore ___ de la veille
Alors on sort pour oublier tous les problèmes

Alors on danse
Alors on danse
Alors on danse
Alors on danse
Alors on danse
Alors on danse
Alors on danse
Alors on danse
Alors on danse

Et là tu te dis que c'est fini
car pire que ça ce serait la mort
Quand tu crois enfin que tu t'en sort
Quand y en a plus et ben y en a encore
Est-ce la ___ ou les problèmes
Les problèmes ou bien la musique
Ça te prend les ___ ça te prend la tête
et puis tu prie pour que ça s'arrête
Mais c'est ton corps c'est pas le ciel
Alors tu te bouches plus les oreilles
Et là tu cries encore plus fort
et ça persiste

Alors on chante
la la la la la la
la la la la la la
Alors on chante

Et puis seulement quand c'est fini
alors on dense

Alors on danse
Alors on danse
Alors on danse
Alors on danse
Alors on danse
Alors on danse
Alors on danse
Alors on danse
Alors on danse

Et ben y en a encore
Et ben y en a encore
Et ben y en a encore
Et ben y en a encore
Et ben y en a encore

Merci à Stromae! Son art est extraordinaire.

On (disabling) suggested filenames on macOS 27 - James' Coffee Blog

2026-09-17T00:00:00.000Z

This week I was writing a story and noticed something strange: I didn’t give the document a title, but, after saving it, the document had a title that I did not expect. If I don’t have a name for a story yet, or if I am doing free writing, I will often not give a document a title, instead allowing the default behaviour in the tool I use to write, Typora, which is to take the first few words or maybe sentence of the document, or the first line. In the case of markdown, the first line is almost always my title, and so this default behaviour worked out well; where the first line was a paragraph, the first part of the document was taken as the title.

⁂ ⁂ ⁂

As a writer, every detail of my words matter to me: the punctuation, the grammar, the italics, the capitals (or lack thereof) the titles. Everything has meaning. When I noticed the unfamiliar title, I was displeased, because I am used to the software working in a certain way. If I don’t have a title, a fragment of the start of the document should be taken. I don’t want a “Suggested” title. I want a predictable title I set or one taken from the first few words of the piece, as was the previous behaviour.

Today I think I finally figured out why the document title had changed. macOS 27 has a feature called “Suggest file names”, whose description, listed in the Finder Settings, reads:

Suggested names when renaming, saving and editing files are based on file content and the names of other files in the folder.

The suggested name for this document is “Typora Document” :facepalm:

Here is a screenshot I took of an earlier post I was planning to draft where I finally saw the behaviour in action:

ALT

A screenshot of an open Typora window with a heading on the first line of the document that says "Upcoming web and writing events" but a "Suggested" title at the top of the window that reads "Web and Writing Events"

I found a Reddit thread with instructions on how to disable the feature, which offers the following instructions to disable suggested file names (bold text removed):

Finder → Settings → General → uncheck Suggest file names.

I have disabled this feature, and do not intend on turning it back on.

⁂ ⁂ ⁂

Encountering this “feature” was jarring to me because it violated my long-learned expectations of how the software I use to write every day, and have used for years, works. In this case it appears as if the suggestions for the title were coming from the system, which are doubly concerning.

Indeed, it took me a while to figure out exactly what was going on. I looked at Typora’s documentation earlier today and saw their latest major update was on the 19th of July 2026. That ruled out Typora. Then I did some digging and found reports of this related to macOS in general, the aforementioned Reddit thread informing me that what I had run into was an implemented system feature.

I don’t usually write about my qualms with software: there are many other things about which I would rather write. But this one was so close to the heart of what I do. I reiterate: I don’t want my computer to “suggest” titles. How I title a document is a decision I want to make personally, and should never have to assume will be “suggested”.

⁂ ⁂ ⁂

Post Script —— I don't like posting negative things; this post is an aberration in tone compared to my other writings. I would be dismayed if you left this page feeling frustrated. Intead, I want you to leave reading this post with something more fun and interesting to think about. If you have time, maybe you would like to listen to a podcast about all the amazing things people are doing on the indie web, or a take the challenge to make a tiny web page in celebration of 8-Bit Day (since passed, but it's still a fun challenge), or read a story about a delicious cup of coffee I had recently, or print a zine about personal websites and share it with your friends or community members, or participate in this month's IndieWeb Fiction Carnival.

this month's IndieWeb Fiction Carnival a zine about personal websites and share it with your friends or community members story about a delicious cup of coffee I had recently challenge to make a tiny web page in celebration of 8-Bit Day 19th of July 2026 Typora listen to a podcast about all the amazing things people are doing on the indie web Reddit thread with instructions on how to disable the feature

Wednesday, September 16, 2026 - Baty.net

2026-09-16T10:29:08.000Z

8mm film reels on my shelf (2026)

Using an LLM lets me over-complicate my workflow at unprecedented speeds.

I opened Obsidian this morning. Why? I dunno, really. Sometimes I just want to launch an app and see what it does without remembering bindings or updating packages or generally futzing the way I do with Emacs. Obsidian always makes a good first impression, but it quickly falls apart when I try to do the things that I've already dialed in with Emacs. I waste an hour or two and then forget about Obsidian for another few months.

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A different kind of ‘interpretation’ with 10 English songs - Protesilaos Stavrou: Master feed with all updates

2026-09-16T00:00:00.000Z

In these “interpretations” I typically pick a Greek song, translate its lyrics, and then do the philosophy I would have done anyway. Put differently, I am using music as a starting point for a comment that might turn into a discussion… A failing tactic, for sure, but I digress.

The reason I pick Greek songs is to introduce this type of music to an international audience. Though you should not assume that I have a vested interest in it. I care about art, which knows no borders.

So here are 10 songs covering a variety of styles that I enjoy. I keep it to 10 because I do not have enough lives to appreciate in full everything people do. Sorted alphabetically:

Boney M. - Rasputin https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=16y1AkoZkmQ (pretending I can pick one from Boney M.)
Chumbawamba - Tubthumping https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2H5uWRjFsGc (good energy to keep you going)
Deep Purple - Soldier Of Fortune https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AjIL2BemqBY (a personal story while you are catching your breath)
Eagles - Hotel California https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=09839DpTctU (I am almost conventional at this point)
GALA - Freed from desire https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=p3l7fgvrEKM (Will Grigg’s on Fire!)
Peter Nalitch - Guitar https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AOzkN8dHnjk (the GOAT)
Placebo - Every You Every Me https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OMaycNcPsHI (“carve your name into my arm”!!!)
Scooter - How Much Is The Fish? https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cbB3iGRHtqA (a fortune, mate—tough times)
System Of A Down - Toxicity https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iywaBOMvYLI (because I do not understand half of Chop Suey, lol)
The Prodigy - Out Of Space https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=a4eav7dFvc8 (just wake up your boring neighbours)

The gist of all this is that each person is multifaceted. Sometimes I do not want to listen to music at all. I enjoy the birds and the ambience of the mountains. At others I am keen on something more contemplative and at others still I will put on a dance song. As a matter of fact, while I am typing this out, Coco Jambo by Mr. President is playing from my archive, which is one helluva blast from the past!

In embracing our multifacetedness we free ourselves from the absurdities of ideological purity. Take any benign idea—love, beauty, peace—to an extreme and it becomes so inwardly corrupted it turns into its opposite.

In the expression of multifacetedness there is common sense. You allow each facet of yourself to thrive, because you are taking care to water all the plants. As such, you are creating an internal polyculture, which is resilient to disease. Diversity in harmony produces balance of the sort that is sustainable.

Balance can also be enforced through uniformity,, adherence to dogma, and brute force. This is the singlefacetedness of monoculture that delivers short-term results and longer-term malaise. In terms of everyday behaviour it runs counter to our nature at times, even when it is done in the name of it, and thus ends up being pretentious in substance and performative in style.

The human condition is diverse throughout. The individual is, in this regard, both mirror and amplifier of group dynamics, of social trends, and historical trajectories. By exposing ourselves to others, we allow our own self to flourish and to become more rounded.

How can you know, for example, if you actually like dancing if you have never done it in earnest? Maybe what you are missing is exposure to that person and/or situation that will tease out whatever remains hidden deep inside of you.

Intellectually, I am a philosopher. Though a more generic term is explorer. I will go anywhere the wind sails because (i) I am keen on learning as much as I can, (ii) I recognise I am not in complete control of the world and so accept my fate, and (iii) I have the courage to deal with whatever danger awaits.

The danger with the explorer’s conduct and with diversity more broadly is that it can become wasteful of its own vitality if it is stretched too thin. Concretely, if I explore too much without integrating any findings into my life, then I reach a point where I am pulled in all directions, unable to actually do anything from start to finish.

Similarly, diversity for the sake of diversity does not produce any good results. Polyculture at its extreme is so competitive for each plant that there can be no one or few species that yield enough fruit.

It again comes down to balance and common sense, to avoiding the absurdities of the extremes.

2026 Roll-037 - Baty.net

2026-09-15T20:12:20.000Z

Boathouse, Gaylord MI (2026)

This roll was taken at a friend's cottage near Grayling and in Grand Haven.

Adirondack chairs

Bourbon by the lake

Surfer and stumbling guy

Wave breaking on Grand Haven pier

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Tuesday, September 15, 2026 - Baty.net

2026-09-15T13:25:34.000Z

Boathouse door (2026)

STATUS: Considering a withdrawal from Mastodon
TODO: Hang out with my grandson
READING: "Thinking In Systems" by Donella Meadows
LISTENING: Various artists on cassette tape

I sat down here today thinking I wanted a bunch of separate blogs, again. Then I came to my senses, but I still don't know how to handle the small posts. Are they still Notes? Does it make sense to separate them? Does it matter?

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I Want Your Sex (2026) ★★★★ - Baty.net

2026-09-15T13:22:22.000Z

I have always had a thing for Olivia Wilde. I now have even more of a thing for Olivia Wilde.

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Wonders of Web Weaving, Episode 19 - James' Coffee Blog

2026-09-15T00:00:00.000Z

The nineteenth episode of Wonders of Web Weaving is out:

In Episode 19, I chat with Daniel, the author of melonking.net and maintainer of the Melonland community forum about, among other things, longevity on the web, the 'web revival', the creative potential of the web, and more.

I hope you enjoy the episode!

Wonders of Web Weaving also has an RSS feed you can use to follow along from wherever you get your podcasts.

Melonland community forum Daniel melonking.net The nineteenth episode of Wonders of Web Weaving is out Wonders of Web Weaving also has an RSS feed

Interpretation of “Palm trees” by Vasilis Papakonstantinou - Protesilaos Stavrou: Master feed with all updates

2026-09-15T00:00:00.000Z

For the present article, I have picked a seemingly bizarre song from the vast corpus of Vasilis Papakonstantinou: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wv28XE7tGJo.

Palm trees is written and composed by Apostolos Boulasikis. All of the songs I have heard from Apostolos are surreal in the images they evoke and profound in the interpretations they withstand. This one is no exception.

Below are the lyrics, my faithful translation of them, and some philosophy.

Also check the other interpretations I have written related to Vasilis Papakonstantinou:

I need (2025-09-01)
Minor adulterations (2025-03-01)
Sophie (The wild crowd) (2023-03-22)
Porto Rico (2022-07-28)
Trench coat (2022-07-09)

Φοινικιές

Ερμηνεία:  Βασίλης Παπακωνσταντίνου
Στίχοι:    Απόστολος Μπουλασίκης
Μουσική:   Απόστολος Μπουλασίκης


Να φεύγεις, να φεύγεις, να φεύγεις 
ώσπου να βρεις τις ακτές 
που χρόνια, τα χρόνια στολίζουν 
με σημαιάκια του χτες

Οι αιώνες 
ξεβαμμένες, αρχαίες εικόνες 
Μεγαλεία 
σκονισμένα σε ράφια βιβλία 

Μα εσύ πρέπει πάντα να φεύγεις 
να βρίσκεις τις φοινικιές 
που κάθε τους λόγχη σου δείχνει 
μια απ'τις παλιές σου μορφές 

Γόνος νόθος του θεού του ήλιου 
Καπετάνιος σε πλωτό του Νείλου 
Αλχημίστας κι ιερέας δικαστής 
Νέγρος ταξιτζής μέσα στο Χάρλεμ 
Αριβίστας ζιγκολό στο Σάλεμ 
Καζανόβας και Λατίνος εραστής 

Λαδωμένος παλαιστής του Σούμο 
Πακιστανός μούτσος σ'ένα τσούρμο 
που βυθίζεται ανοιχτά των Αντιλλών 
Γελαστός παλιάτσος και ακροβάτης 
Μες το Σόχο ζόρικος προστάτης 
Γόης εξαθλιωμένων γυναικών 

Όλα γυρίζουν, ξαναγυρίζουν 
λειώνουν, τελειώνουν 
και ξαναρχίζουνε 

Ίωνας φιλόσοφος και ρήτωρ 
Στη Σεβίλλη ταύρος επιβήτωρ 
Που πεθαίνει στου τορέρο το σπαθί 
Δολοφόνος ενός πρώην τσάρου 
Φύλακας ενός σβησμένου φάρου 
Αμανές σε Οθωμανικό τζαμί 

Στα βουνά της Αφρικής αντάρτης 
Ήρωας πολεμιστής σακάτης 
τα παράσημα του βγάζει στο σφυρί 
Μάγος του Αμαζονίου, μάντης 
Κολασμένος συγγραφέας, Δάντης 
Σαμουράι πέρα στην Ανατολή. 

Όλα γυρίζουν, ξαναγυρίζουν 
λειώνουν τελειώνουν 
και ξαναρχίζουνε 

Κι όμως πρέπει πάντα να φεύγεις 
να βρίσκεις τις φοινικιές 
Φλεγόμενες βάτους που λένε 
σαν τις σειρήνες ψευτιές 

Να φεύγεις, να φεύγεις, να φεύγεις 
ν'ακολουθείς τις φωνές 
στους δρόμους που πάντα φωτίζουν 
φλεγόμενες οι φοινικιές

Palm trees

Singer:   Vasilis Papakonstantinou
Lyrics:   Apostolos Boulasikis
Music:    Apostolos Boulasikis


To leave, to leave, to leave
until you find the shores
which years, the years adorn
with small flags of yesterday

The centuries
worn out, ancient icons
Grandeurs
dusty books on shelves

But you must always be leaving
to be finding the palm trees
whose every spear shows you
one of your old forms

Illegitimate offspring of the sun god
Captain of a riverboat on the Nile
Alchemist and priest-judge
Black taxi driver in Harlem
Arrivist gigolo in Salem
Casanova and Latin lover

Oiled up sumo wrestler
Pakistani sailor in a crew
that sinks off the Antilles
Smiling clown and acrobat
In Soho a tough guardian
Charmer of immiserated women

All goes round, and round again
they melt, they end
and they restart

Ionian philosopher and rhetorician
At Seville a bull rider
who dies by torero's sword
Assassin of a former tsar
Keeper of an extinguished lighthouse
Amanes at an Ottoman mosque

Rebel at the mountains of Africa
Hero crippled fighter
who auctions his decorations
Magician of the Amazon, seer
Damned author, Dante
Samurai far to the East

All goes round, and round again
they melt, they end
and they restart

And still you should always be leaving
to be finding the palm trees
Burning bushes who tell lies
like the sirens

To leave, to leave, to leave
to follow the voices
to the paths that are luminated
by burning palm trees

The titular palm trees symbolise the end of a journey. They represent the exotic life one finds away from their homeland or the realm of the knowable more broadly. “Exotic” in its root as “exo” (έξω), which is outside, thus strictly foreign, unknown yet conceivable as unknown, otherworldly.

The song speaks of flight and makes an exhortation to that end. To leave one’s place, in the hope of finding the altogether different world that lies beyond their current reach. As such, Palm trees invites one to embark on an open-ended adventure in pursuit of an elusive goal.

This is not necessarily a boat trip to the other side of the ocean. One can perform such a journey while physically staying where they are. What matters is that they open their mind to fresh ideas and new possibilities. Practically speaking, though, one needs to abandon their immediate locale to undergo such a transformation. The reason is that people eventually stick to what they used to do because it grants some benefits within the given society.

Someone may be, for example, the cool edgy kid in high school. They gain a reputation to that end, which itself carries expectations. Others now see and want edginess. This person then has the incentive to continue to be edgy, to effectively play the role, rather than, say, pause and become more contemplative.

Travel will help break this loop. The person will have the freedom to become another as their preoccupations are no longer tied to the expectation of specific patterns and outcomes. Modern societies understand this and is why children switch schools after each level and eventually go to university, should they choose to. At each level there is a chance of rediscovering oneself anew, even if only marginally.

A journey in pursuit of the exotic is neverending, because there can be no discovery of the exotic as exotic. Once one enters the other world, they already are conditioned accordingly. They have become another in the process of (i) escaping from the confines of their comfort zone and then in (ii) reaching that world. That which once was distant has become proximate.

Such travels have no terminus. The exotic is not a specific entity, but the notional other of one’s lifeworld. If one moves from inside to a specific outside, then that becomes their new inside as the realm of the familiar and the proximate, which shall have its own outside, and so on.

As people, we change over time to take on certain qualities and leave others. What once was a defining feature now is not characteristic of who we are. There may still be traces, but more pronounced patterns have since taken form.

It thus does not matter where exactly one finds those palm trees, i.e. who they become exactly. The point is to develop a certain consistency such that they can be that person in earnest and feel they are performing their function well. This is described at length in the lyrics through the references to all the figures one can be. Each leaf of the palm tree points to a persona.

To what end? There is none. The journey is not better than staying exactly in place. Those who leave as well as those who stay still meet the same fate. It then comes down to what feels right or what the song describes as the path luminated by the palm trees: one can only follow what they discern.

For instance, I am the journeyman type who leaves home in pursuit of discovering myself by losing the self I was, as merchant on the silk road, pirate at the Horn of Africa, sellsword in one of the many European wars, all as the same person. I thrive in openendedness. This is what makes me a philosopher and a polymath, after all. It is exuberance that comes with the requisite courage to embark on the adventure, to not be deterred by the challenge, and to not be held back by any promise of comfort either.

The blue room - Protesilaos Stavrou: Master feed with all updates

2026-09-15T00:00:00.000Z

The blue room draws you in. It offers the refuge you seek. Its material construction diffuses all noise. You are neither disturbed nor distracted by what transpires in your midst. Such is the comfort it provides.

Days do not matter within its confines. What was, shall be. Time loses its meaning when all you can do is stare at those walls. Its passage is not paused though. Each day leaves its mark on the body. Every second is impressed on the skin to show you, whenever you muster the courage to look at the mirror, just how late you have been.

The blue room remembers your moments. Records it keeps to remind those passing by how long it has remained standing. In its space are stored memories of bygone days. It keeps track of your perfect score in a particular category: of dreams never to materialise. Those are your wants: the adventures you did not embark on. They are the characters you never became and the roles you did not assume. It stood there watching them go unnoticed by the travellers of this world.

You appear not, when all is a single colour, no matter how actively you try and how strongly you want it. There is no pattern to be discerned. When you speak, they wonder how is it that a building can have a voice. People are afraid of haunted places, after all. Instead of inferring that you might be there somewhere, they act in response to their deep-seated fears. You are irrelevant in your invisibility.

The blue room absorbs it all. It has inexhaustible patience. It wants you to remain in place. Only then can it perform its function of protecting you, of shielding you from whatever danger lurks in the corner. From your daily routine it will remove any sense of urgency. You shall not go anywhere. There is no need to. What you have is complete. It shall suffice for a lifetime.

Plans for tomorrow can be revised to become aspirations for the week after, which in turn will be rolled over to a future date that remains elusive. The hopes are distorted accordingly, with pragmatic considerations woven into their narrative. A few are enough to bring an abrupt end to the story that would otherwise develop. Not even there do you become another.

The blue room loves you. It tells you that it has desire for you alone. Special you feel when you are noticed, even if it is only by a structure. It has a life of its own. A logic that defies and then overrides your volition. It enters your mind as shapeshifter extraordinaire to become friend and lover whose name you keep forgetting.

The blue room questions your judgement. There is nowhere to go when all you can think of is informed by monotonous surroundings. The door is right there. Step outside whenever you want only to discover that you jump back in. Without a plan, you revert to your default condition, effectively working against the goal you never defined. As you do that, hope is lost. It feels you are standing while running.

The blue room is you. It extends to form a fine line which connects at the other end to become a circle. There is no outside, no inside, no before, no after. It is the everlasting and ubiquitous presence of a hue; the tyranny of one. You switch off the lights to not notice it anymore. Yet you know that it and you are the same.

Gail Daughtry and the Celebrity Sex Pass (2026) ★★★★ - Baty.net

2026-09-14T09:01:04.000Z

I thought this was very funny.

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