Silence, distortion affecting the senses.
Trash in the corners. Artificial light,
impossible constellations.
Things shine in a special way. Viscous camo; alien to the species.
Dawn breaks: the things of the new day.
The city's trying to wake up.
Air breathed; used; discarded. Sounds of always behind
the usual broken window.
Another unnatural sunrise, out of context at this latitude.
I play with the names of things:
rain is cry; night is oblivion; pain is love...
Things change color, shape, and everything else.
Motion figures; someone drags something; someone pushes something.
A baby cries.
I inhale, exhale (...)
all the time in a cyclical boredom that helps maintain some order.
I cover my eyes and my mouth. I try to escape this loop,
leave me, and... look at myself in the mirror
and ask if that face is mine.
Cell phones ringing. Faces illuminated by the screens,
in apparent illusion.
Amid the chaos, I try to remember your geography...
Silence is better; rain is better...
I wish it would always rain.
I search for the possibility that it's all connected,
that everything makes sense.
Meanwhile... I dream...
I create a baroque sketch, full and symmetric:
something almost perfect.
An unreal memory, because this memory remains within me. Because it is a memory, or a memory of something that one day will
disappear without a trace.
A memory that one day will become someone else's memory.
I'm here, there, and everywhere.
I feel the present, the future, and the past.
I am you, she, and he... but, in reality, I am nobody.
From the void, I imagine living beings in an approximate way.
I see broken mirrors with a sideways glance, to check if I'm still there.
Behind the fog: in the certainty, a dog is staring at me.
A delicious beast...
about to hurt...
inèrcies 2020
Microstructures by a confined present. Words and image: sin título. Polaroid 110b modified with Fujifilm wide
