… a song of a last red Sun kissing the snow
… a soft fire carving infinitely a mountain
… a ruby made of stone and sunlight
… a lava soul of a sleeping heart
… a sudden blush.
Lights and shadows dancing; volumes and textures are born in every movement.
And it’s said that in the time that lasts the blue hour with magic arts Cain built a city of cylinders to his son….
Seriously, that part of Genesis always drove me crazy, How is it possible to anyone alone to build a city? Even the work to make something like Flindstone’s Bedrock would represent a titanic effort. I think probably there is a mistake in the translation, something more like a home would be more reasonable. These days I finished to design the concepts for a very special home, when the design is completed I’ll show you something you’ve never seen and that would make the Cain’s city something ordinary in comparison ;-)
I’m leaving this world in search of a place with you. Perhaps one in this shared dream that we call reality, perhaps one in this personal dream that we call memory. I’m not in this muted world anyway, anymore.
A final melody composed with the frozen drops of a forgotten rain made of your mementos. This road seems to have only one direction and just one end. A voracious time doesn’t forgive and turns the hours in months and the months in dust.
An infinite horizon says that if you walk someday you’re going to find the one you are looking for, but it doesn’t say you if at the end of the road the one she is waiting for is you.
Exhausting my mornings building vast prophecies, desires to have a night illuminated by your star. My eyes looking up farther and farther away a proof of you; unable to fathom the mirage of lights in this cruelty road.
Perhaps I should just close my eyes, but there is no sense: inside there is a river and its stream has the music of your laugh and its surface shaped with countless versions of the blaze in your eyes.
A world made illusion. A world made of undefined shapes. A silhouette that yell one last time a lie, “I don’t care” replies a river inside.
At the end there is only a lonely night.
(I shot the images in the Peruvian side of the highway around the lake Titicaca while traveling from a trip to Bolivia)