(Dis-)Play

Before the last year ended I thought of buying a camera and attend some photography classes, this last idea came from a suggestion of a friend of mine. I need to go out outside more and forget about the weaving spiders in my head. I haven't bought it, though. For a reason I still think I can't find anything worth-shooting. On the other hand I sometimes find myself in scenes in which I wish I had a camera to seize the details of certain moments. Once I saw a dead roach lying on the floor of an Armani store show window, right in the middle of two quite fancy dressed mannequins. In that moment I said: "such a classy funeral!"

I've never thought, however, of photographing people, nor even shooting myself. If I wanted to be shot by someone I would pick Anton Corbijn to perform such task. Photographs portray several scenes in life, and the people who play certain roles in them. But I am not quite into stealing people's souls because I guess there is nothing important to keep from them. I would, nevertheless, shoot my closest relatives, for they have special roles and meanings in my life. Maybe I'd try to choose a few friends to include in the record, but perhaps I would drop this option.

Some people's roles seem to run deep in life, but on a second thought these turn to be shallow cameos, not worthy of remaining. They only go by and, the sooner they walk away, the better. Film ought not to be wasted. I'd rather use it in places, objects, screenshots, skylines, etc, sceneries in which I could put myself greatly and stay in record, to prove I had a life.

Love's in Transit

3rd Anniversary

The afterglow of the previous years couldn't have been called in such way since, today, clouds hindered the transit of light all over the sky, casting a sort of grayish shade through the cold atmosphere of this season. An intermittent sleet has blown at the face of the city now and then, cooling the air and absorbing any warmth emmitted by living beings.

The rain keeps falling on the restless buildings. People don't receive this rare gift as enthusiastically as only a few of us do. They hate it. They can't bear a single day without the suffocating aftermath of global warming. This is the first time I have seen a seasonal change in these latitudes and I'm trying to get the best part of it. This portion of the globe doesn't seem to know the movement of weather, it always stays the same. By mistake some mass of polar wind might make this far an cool the mood of this city, but it only lasts a couple of days; this time, however, it seems that winter has come to stay for a long while. People can't bear this and they stay home. I take advantage of this weakness of theirs and go out more often. Winter has driven away my natural foe, crowds.

Night falls sooner than expected and I seem to attain the restlesness people has lately lost, for I take longer walks to try to spot the twilight and find any resemblance from the earlier days. No colours shine and I realize that, despite the thousand sunsets that will shine far above, such sunset will never come back. I could listen back then to the cracking leaves, lying on the ground, being swept by the wind back and forth, blown by the cars driving on the roads. The afternoon reached the point of no return and I knew things would never be the same.

I walk through the same empty streets and then get lost among the lost, as an attempt to retrieve something I have lost back then. I haven't recovered myself. I haven't felt the same shiver, I haven't heard the same tone of such calling. In the same way I try to find the long gone sign to understand the true meaning but I have failed. Everything is in its right place and that is not the right signal, since the most drawing things in life bear certain counterbalance in themselves, they must stand out from the gray.

I've followed her steps on the very sidewalk she moved away from my reach. The redish-brown light of her eyes still glows in my head and I failed to trace it. Everyday her slim shape dissolves in my mind as I try to remember her walking by that red wall and then away in the distance, noticing that such screenshot would never be displayed in the same sequence. Does she remember? Did it mean something for her, if any? The infinite possibility lingers in my head. Her image stayed inside me.

The weather turns into a frozen meteor and produces a cold light, concealing sunset deep beneath a hovering curtain. There is no day on which I don't think of her. The red wall she walked by and she camouflaged herself in still bears the same colour, but it's not the same any longer. I myself am not the same I was three years ago. The one-way road on which she walked away from me somehow resembles the way life flows. If I remember her she will stay by my side forever.

I

While I type this first post of the year I remember I made no new year resolutions. Not that I usually make them, but I think I should stick to this odd habit. Yet I couldn't think of none of them, except for the comment of my own translated version of the novel I want to finish my studies with.

In the last three months and last few minutes of the year people from the remotest past came back to haunt me, just to remind me I left a somehow quite deep, traceable track behind me. I can't think of anything else but of those dead souls that seemed to be behind the thick blind of time, which casts a wide shadow upon them and erases their faces until no trace of them remains in memory. Those dead souls, however, just keep calling me from the closest distance, even if I play deaf I still can hear their summoning. However hard I try to avoid such encounter someday I will have to meet them. Maybe I will get the courage to face them and to find out what I missed, if anything; I'm quite afraid it will result in a slight disappointment, for the messages they have so far sent me bring nothing of my interest. I will have anyhow to show up, for they also have expectations about me, so if I show up and unintentionally let them down their wishful thinking will dispel. The greatest beauty in this situation is that I'm not meant to see them again if I don't feel like doing so.

I remember when I used to care about the things I wanted before, though. The Three Magi from the East came around five days ago but they left me no presents--well, I didn't ask any for I couldn't think of something I wanted by the moment. What I would have wanted would have required a bigger power and, as far as I know, they are the Three Wise Men and, even if they also reached holiness, they bear no liability to work any miracle. Though I still keep plentiful memories of them from the good old days and recalled them on the consecrated day of their visit. I remember they used to drop by my house and leave wonderful presents accompanied by a great atmosphere of magic. Thanks to their efforts I was happy many times in my childhood. Sometimes I miss that magic. The faith I had in it as a child doesn't compare to anything nowadays and will never come back under the same shape. I still remember how I experienced the magic of such day and, despite time, it will stay. Certain images of such times have not whithered but time bleached the magic.

Two years ago I asked them the chance to find the pet I could've had the previous year but I let go. I also begged them for enough luck to find the girl I saw once and for whom my heart has been longing for but I also let go. Unlike my childhood days I did make a promise of retribution: if they granted me such petitions I would try harder to be a better person to anyone. Back then I would've loved to feel the magic again but the presents I wanted seemed to be out of their reach. They can't turn back time; they can't make up for the mistakes I made before; they can't protect me from the consequences of what I did (from what I did not do, in this case); they can't prevent the loneliness I have to face; they can't protect from heartbreak. I know if they could help they would gladly do it.

I occasionally miss some parts of the past, magic for example.