Archive for February 2010

Look at prices of the same book in different sites!

February 25, 2010

Compare at how different my book prices are on the internet!!!
My book on Amazon
My book on Jabberwocky Bookshop
My book on indie – Water Street Bookstore
My book on Powell’s Books
My book on Abe books
My book on Αlibris
My book on Barnes & Noble


February 23, 2010

I have been asked about the name I am using between my first name and my last name.

I WAS TOLD THAT IT SOUNDS HILARIOUS. Like a man-woman name. Well, it is not. I do not claim the name Christos Rodoulla. Yes, that would be really funny. My name is Christos.

To support me view and defend myself, since I found my self among gunshots, I state:

First, linguistically, two names in a row with a space between them can easily be seperated and distinguished as being a first and a middle name. Come on guys, names in Spain are wagons of long trains. Picasso’s name for example includes (in a row of at least twenty names) all names of his family, mother’s, father’s, aunts’, grandmothers’, uncles’, grandfathers’. And it is not funny at all. I call it “respect”.

Well. Rodoulla is my mother’s name and I am all fire in doing this. I don’t mind becoming the first Cypriot who suffers contempt for using his mother’s middle name. But I shall not be a martyr. I want more people to support me. By Doing the same.  To me it is an act of protest against the ever so stone-hard patriarchic attitude of using only our Father-Descended Family Name. And in doing that we of course totally ignore our mother as an individual. We ignore her by leaving her name out of our own nominal name and by inexcusably establishing her inequality to and suppression by the dominant male figure – the husband.

Though I sound more like a feminist than a man with full pants, I can assure you that my jewels are shiny and ready to go, thanks to my creator, my mother. And I intend to honour her with my name on my book. I am ready to tolerate any attack of phallocrats against my action and at the same time I invite all of you who are in favour of Cyprus or other world citizens to be officially allowed and socially accepted to use their mother’s name as their middle name!

I invite you to cast a vote in my group called “Mother’s Middle Name”!/profile.php?v=feed&story_fbid=333988259160&id=100000838412216

If we respect out fathers only, we burry half our identity. Do we want that, indeed, after all?

“Throwing Dice on a Chessboard” some more preview

February 20, 2010

by Theodoros SampsonThose tables over there between the flowers and the stage?


But I still feel it! Everybody’s heads are turned to the dance floor

and the couple. The couple! The direction of all the heads so much

directs my eyes.

First Nigel, not, he is saluting someone there, now the look is

getting more intense. Dare I look at her? Cecile is the only one left.

She must be the one of the entire feast staring at me so intensely,

even now being kissed by yet another cousin from the long queue

congratulating her on her new start.

The queue, the human line like an arrow pointing at me, a rattle

tail slapping me.




And the look. Bride eyes. My wonderful aunt staring me in the

face so angrily. Such bright eyes! Could this be happiness? Did she

notice my weird reactions? Was it a proud look that turned to wild?

Is that a grinning now? Approving? No, she must be embarrassed

by me posing like that, or perhaps leaving. Aha! Yes, leaving the

wedding already, that’s it! She thinks I am bored of the celebrations.

Is it an insult to her if I retreat early?

Too late, I’m too close to the exit to change direction and head

to the toilets and pretend. I’ll just make things worse, show that I

wanted to sneak out and I was caught and I tried to fool her, and

she’ll tell my folks, and they’ll be embarrassed in their turn, and

everything will turn against me. No case for me.

Here’s the exit, one foot out, she’ll forget all about me tonight,

Nigel is a rock of a man, he’ll please her all right, he is gonna drain

her brains of all bad memories of the night. Oh, how deeply fulfilled

I fell being a bad memory of this night! And then they’ll count the

money they’ll have made, do it first if they would not, and selectively

they will love everybody that came.

‘Plastic joy, for lifetime, and every three years the scissors, remember,


New Blog Post

February 14, 2010

Your predictions are so poor. Why are you saying this? I did make that prediction that day, when I first wanted to go buy candy from the store and stop eating candy from the fig tree; that she was a curse I just had to be chased by, forever. ‘Grandpa, shall I empty the ashtray?’ ‘No, dear child, leave it. Leave the cola bottle too. I really want to show how reddish black I am inside, how readily dark, how much I look like a ripe fig.’ ‘What are you saying, Grandpa?’ ‘Sit, forget the photo, son, there is a story I need to tell you about how I couldn’t kill a tree and how now I can’t kill myself.’