The White Rabbit

The flu is not getting any better, but I'll manage to survive.. Afterall I'll live forever.
Or at least I'll die trying.

Tonight I already risk to get an overdose from that funny German medicine my cousin brought from the dark heart of Switzerland with love. I had never heard of it before, but it supposed to be working properly.

I mean, the blue tiny winged pig here next to me just told me it shouldn't have any side effect. So let's wait.

In the meantime I'll work on the pictures a bit, reorganize them, eventually edit them, create a hidden story within them. I will have to think think think..in order to write write write.
The project waits.
I told you I would have made the pink notebook bleed ink.

Errata Corrige folks, it's me the only thing bleeding here, while I write.

Stop looking at the words. Everybody does. Look the blank space between them. Read that silence. I swear it takes your breath away.
But the project waits.

ps..I feel funny. The blue pig flew away and now i just see.. I just hear.. Oh, I'm sorry. I have got to follow the white rabbit.
Join in

Progressing!

Finally I am back.
It's not that we didn't do anything for our project, but I just couldn't find the time to sum it up in a decent way here on the blog. Forgive me.
The Clicks met up yesterday afternoon at my place, and sitting around a table decided everything we are going to do about this project. The overall concept, the ideas, the tasks, the material to be used, the words to be written, the mood to be conveyed. It's all here, in a tiny kitsch pink notebook next to my messy laptop.
We did a good job, still it's not over.
In fact, here it comes the tough part. It's not easy to focus on a project efficiently when you have to prepare 2 other exams on completely different topics at the same time. We will have to work as a team, a real team, even more than what we are doing now, trying not to arise unuseful tensions between us because of the stress, the pressure and the rent payment.
We will manage to do this, and we will manage to do this in the best of the possible ways. Right?
Tomorrow we will carry it on and refine it. Step by step, from today onwards, I'll write here each single progress we'll make. Anna will give me the pictures' cd tomorrow.
Soon, I'll start developing my personal view and subjective approach to the project too. No anticipations yet. The kitsch pink notebook shuts up and smiles, hiding my sketches and thoughts in its Dry Paper Heart.
Ladies and Gentlemen, this is a permanent work in progress.
I'll make it bleed ink.

The Arteries.

"Those who find any difference between spirit and body have neither.”
O.W.


Psychogeography.

Please, keep it away from the reach of children. Only the name could provoke severe mental traumas.
But when you finally manage to write and pronounce it...it doesn't sound this bad.

Psychogeography is the imperfect science who investigates the relationships between the beings and the places they live in. But this is a cold, emotions-free definition. I don't like it. Psychogeogrtaphy is much more than that. It is the imperfect science (may this oximoron be blessed) which investigates the relations between the body and the space around it, the soul and the landscapes, the eyes and what the eyes see. The relations between the mind, and the places the mind thinks of. In a simple way, the connection between the inside and the outside.

We, as human being, tend to project ourselves everywhere.

Think about it and look around: from a socket to a house façade.. don't they always resemble a human face? With the two windows as eyes and the front door as a mouth..

And think about a city: hasn't it got a heart, a brain, lungs.. arteries untying all around it?

Let me explain. Look at it from above.

It's night, and the entire town has become a sort of mechanical galaxy, a concentration of electric supernovas and skycrapers.

Now, only now, you can see the blood slide and flow in those veins: it's us. Us in our cars, with their red lights on. Arteries, literally. Running everywhere in a calm disorder. Keeping the city alive.

Our heartbeats, together, like a drum chorus, create a weird silent symphony.

It may be the music God dances on when nobody's looking at him.

This is psychogeography.

The rotting beauty

.שלום
The Clicks went to Brighton on thursday.
Weird, weird place. Starting from its name. It sounds like a unkept promise: Brighton.
Bright? Not at all.
I've always felt the same about it. Brighton looks like a sad, beautiful, lonely woman. No longer young, no longer loved, the wrinkles ploughing her face like a curse while she watches the sea silently. But in some way she's still proud, still she keeps her ancient elegance. Can you see it?
There's still a light somewhere in her big eyes. It burns just for a second and disappears, again.
No way. You'll never know what she was thinking about. (..Maybe the Old Times? But which ones, lady? Have you ever been happy?). She'll never say. Just smiles, like one who smiles with his own sadness.

Look at the sky! It rains and the sun shines.
No, you don't really expect a sea-place to be like this. We got used to carribbean-like landscapes, vomiting sunrays and happiness all around.
When one thinks about the sea, doesn't think of Brighton. Of its cold water. Its fury.
This is a real sea though. Roaring, and angry. Immense. Ugly and bitter.
But awfully,
awfully alive.