Although this blog has become over its short existence little more than a reflection of my point of view on music, film and any other arts, I recognise this change has arrived as an answer to my progressive lack of journalistic work on other websites. And let’s face it – I live for the words, for the text, for their power and consequent influence on society as a whole.
So today’s post is different; I take hold of this so-called power of the words to bring back some loose memories of a distant time and place. Or maybe not so distant – although sometimes it feels like a whole lifetime has gone by. The rose. The grapefruit. The photo. The kiss – a kiss is never just a kiss, mr. Hupfeld, no matter what Sam plays. The bed. The song. The city. The secret. The poems – oh, the beautiful poems written for their own muse, mixed with long letters of despair while seeking for someone we’ve already found.
And, just like it arrived, it’s gone. The remainings – a short story, a box, everything possible to make us believe it wasn’t just a dream. And the time-erased memories, slowly disappearing only to return once in a while, when it all comes around your head all over again, vivid like a well-preserved film copy.
So today it came around my head once again. And will dance itself to death until it rises again, years from now, to haunt me like a past life’s karma alert.
