Sunday, August 22, 2004

excerpt from my written journal.

There are certain parts of humans that are present all over the world- in different cultures; human nature I guess you would call it. Like Graffiti, the want/need to leave one's mark in a way that may be more permanent than oneself. For example: all those initials engraved on the large maple tree along the seiene river. the one I took a picture of. How many and for how long have people been carving into that tree? In cement, on buildings, always their name and sometimes the name/initials of the one that they love. That moment is forever captured. Love and people may pass away but the moment, the fellings of that moment are left lingering, haunting, waiting to creep up on the unsuspecting person contemplating, touching the evidence long left behind. The echoes of moments touch those around it.
Now tags somehow seem different, more transient, perhaps that is why one feels the need to tag everything in an attempt that one tag will be missed and linger.
No matter how much has changed here the changes are all inconsequential in the big scheme of things. Italy has too many echoes, so many moments that voices whisper in the breeze, tears of thousands of widows fall from the sky. Lovers touchs are present with every adriatic wave surrounding one, carressing, filling every orifice as you plunge deeper searching for the azure that is at once present and yet invisible. Tires scream and engines rumble along the wall of fortresses that once held the enemy at bay. Not only are they new echoes, one that fill our air with moments that will be felt in the lungs, livers, breasts and colons for generations.To close ones eyes, to hear the battles past, the sieges, the thunder of cannons, then gunshots and now missles. all whose entierty was lost in the battles, scuffles and wars and conquests of past generations were not really lost, just fragmented. Leaving a puzzle to be pieced back together, multiplying the outlets of echoes, intensifying it for each piece now resoundswith the same decibal level as it did when it was whole. There is no commutation of this feeling. It is there for everyone to experience, many close their minds to the vibrations. I have only one suggestion to those: breath, ponder these thoughts, relax and enjoy for this is Italy. Full of the love and loss of all those who loved and lost, and , all of their initials, be they carved in stone, by deed, by sweat, by blood, or thought.