sabato 17 dicembre 2011

Snö , this year too

It's time to have the first snowfall of this winter.
Right now, while I'm writing.
Sitting at my desk, writing, enlightened by a candle at my left.
I have just produced a whole page of handwriting. Something magic, considering that I write almost only on the keyboard of a computer.
I complete the page, look at my right and discover thousands of white flakes running like crazy for crashing against the soil of Stockholm.
"Wow! finally! It's magic, beautiful! Finally" I exclaim while opening the window.
Always look forward for the next snowfall,
Always be ready to let its magic to fullfill my eyes,
Always remember the previous one,
Never try, nor hope, to not let it melt away.

Caught in a frame ( I wish it was)

Half drunk, after a night in which I have almost no clue on what I have been doing, I sit in the tunnelbana.
Hopefully heading home, who knows.
It's crowded, even if it's night. Weekend, isn't it?
Strangely caught in the main stream and obscured by the alchool sitting in my veins, I have a sit and fall asleep. Although I think I'm pretty awake.
But no, I think "it's three stops till mine" when it's actually no more than one left.
And still I'm having a nap.
I wake up and see an image.
Still the same station. Still one left to get off the train. Still I am convinced I have a three-stops journey ahead.
A girl and a guy kissing, one of the door of the train being the picture frame.
Behind them, tons of unaware people walking towards their destinations, and the name of the train station shining. The complicate light system of the station is resulting in a simply perfect combination of rays, in which the two lovers are shining and the rest appears for what it is, that is meaningless. He's leaning towards her minute body, in a move resembling a moment of the jump of a delphin going out of the sea-water, the exact moment in which it's leaning out forward another delphin to let their faces to brush one against the other, caught in a frame.
I wake up believing I'm in a Cartier-Bresson photograph. Still, I'm in Stockholm in the middle of a friday night, and the train is waiting a never-ending moment, time-lapse.
Shit, rush opening your backpack, open it and grab the camera as fast as you can.
Done it, turn it on.
One moment to do all of that, one moment is gone.
The door closes. My "click" is barely enough to catch a noisy image of a door hiding a kiss. Fuck.

-"Too late" a man says, sitting in front of me, so far sleeping.
"Too late" he says, drunk sleepy man aware of my toughts.

-"Too slow" I reply, " I was wasting my time sleeping".

-"Wanna go back to the previous station?" he asks.

-"A moment is a moment", I state, while burying again my camera in my backpack.

My stop arrives then soon.
I get off, staggering to my place, my bed, my dreams, my next morning to be mumbled after a muddy night.
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