dimarts, 17 de juliol de 2012

Tropic Beach

Die süsse Stunde

All over, people are here and somewhere else. 

Has it always been like this? And will it ever matter?
These days, technology is what mostly provides us the amazing chance to forget about ourselves as long as «oneself» means here and now. The chance, in a day, to eat in Japan, buy a souvenir from Tangier or rock our dreams in a hammock, somewhere in Brazil. To chat and chill out with tens of people in a sole afternoon, to wake up in Tombouctou. Or to meet the love of our lives without leaving this room. The chance to get lost, spaced out, in the most radical, concrete, material way. Wave. Better as tinier, we can have a band in a box, a friend in a form, a life in a web, the world in a screen. Hidden in our pockets, hanging from an ear, clicking at our fingertips. 
I sit on a beach in a foreign country, unaware, trying to find this moment in the GPS (another language fills the air around, other smells, similar smiles, opposite tides. An ancient worry brings that old fisherman down. A light idea makes those children laugh. And over there, a woman leaves her love behind) whilst imagining a clever sentence that could fit this landscape in a Tweet. (After a while, instead, I write #this morning I did'nt cut my nails). 
I feel like not knowing how to look around. How to  see inside. How to get out.
Loaded with gadgets that witness our lives, set up our routines, take our family, our language and our friends to us and carry our words and our pictures of any world with us. All over, at any time. Can we ever be foreigners? 

And will we ever be at home?

I wonder about these gadgets and these ways (in front of the waves)... wether they are either the answer to the human need to fly or the reflection of the daily dream to hide.

I wanna be here with you like we are now: without having to set an alarm that reminds us when to breathe. 

Is there a chance to switch off and let the day go?   

So far, babe, listen to the ocean snore.
And wait until all beeps and voices melt into the sound of rain.