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So little time has passed ... Three months seems a lifetime. One glance at this moment was for me more than a thousand More nepomerkshih views of my past drowned Atlantis. One Touch of His sunny palm tenderly all Chopin nocturnes. One word 'love' warmer duvet. His silhouette quieter silence. Many years it was looking for me in Sweden, New Zealand, Denmark, Holland - wherever there was even a hint of my traces. But somehow I was very near, a few miles away, sixteen years ago in a small town at Milan, Gavirate.
turns out that fate leads me Path of the villages, it is Italy or America, France or Spain - everywhere I find myself in a provincial dimension to its cozy, but usually exaggerated, due to lack of space and events, an attitude, as if on purpose, so I felt the essence of a country. Gavirate then, in my 12 years, painted my childish mind a green-yellow-red-blue hues shop Benetton, inspired by the white rabbit in the courtyards and soaring overhead kiwi and remained in memory Chipollino city, being home to the Italian writer Gianni Radar. This will always remain for me the whole of Italy, infantile kind, fabulously watercolor, life-affirming. 16 years later I find myself there again, but already in the sea at sunset hour, under the gaze just open Sun.
It sat on the beach and smiling my splash. And me? I caught her lips salty waves, clouds and feeling that way forever. Do you know him? This happens when someone sees a person or read the book and think I already know it, has already seen, had already read .. The same thing happened with the sea: I knew him for a thousand years ago, and this view from the shore was smiling me millions, millions of times. Involuntarily raise my head to the sky and ask the question: how can this be?
I was lying on his back, five-pointed star in the hands of the Sea and, as a child, waiting for an answer to your question. Runs a minute or an hour, and suddenly I see the answer in this yellow eyes from the shore - 'we are, we have always previously - in other poems that shimmer and inevitably confronts us every time a new quality and dimension '...
I believe in communication. Wrong to say 'between people' ... I always been convinced that the eyes express something sverhzhiznennoe that inside of the pupils is something more than our body, more of our thoughts are absolutely identical what we feel. And this sensuous substance will always be a little intelligence and words to express yourself and let us know where it came and appeared in us, and where he goes. I feel for this look, followed me from the shore, someone or something that is slowly and steadily spreads in me that had already spread and mixed with my staff, and knows how to do it until the last drop ... The only way you can try to call this connection - the connection of the Sun and the Moon, the timeless, otherworldly, zavzglyadnaya ..
I cherish the hope that it's not midnight delirium moon man. Feel a sensation as if I play the piano, paltsfvb on the keyboard ... Hmm ... Piano with the screen ..
What I found in this view of the sun? Why It's spilling over me? As I felt that it was mine? What we've touched each other?
have to be primitive, but it is better to describe and explain to me seems impossible. I lay in bed in a thousand kilometers away, and I see his eyes bottle of Evian on the table. I can see through his eyes the window. Anything outside. The whole of Belgium, Italy and the globe. Drifting away and see the sun, moon, stars .. skvozhu his views on air and a vacuum .. A bottle of Evian into a sea. Window - in the sky. All that is outside the window - in Stockholm. Belgium - a country of detectives, Italy - a place of my birth, the earth's ball - a perennial search for me. The sun becomes my self, and the moon goes into dreams. Stars turn into silhouettes miles between us ... His view is моим..
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The Silhouettes (part III)
So little time has elapsed, only three months, but it feels as though I have already lived the whole life. This glance has instantly become for me more than a thousand glances from my Atlantida-life, that haven’t completely drowned yet. One touch of His sunny palm is tenderer than all Chopin’s nocturnes. One word from His lips - 'love' - is warmer than my duvet. The presence of His silhouette is more serene than the silence. For more than thirty years the Sun has been looking for me everywhere: in Sweden, New Zealand, Denmark, Holland - where there was not even a hint of my traces. However, once I was quite near, a few miles away, sixteen years ago, in a small town 60 km north-west of Milan called Gavirate. Somehow it always happens that the fate leads me in a village path, either it is Italy or America, either it’s France or Spain - everywhere I find myself in a provincial dimension with its cozy, but usually exaggerated, because of shortage of space and events, world-attitude; as if on purpose, for me to feel the essence of the country. Gavirate at that time, when I was in my 12 years, colored my childish consciousness with greenish-yellowish-reddish-bluish hues of Benetton store, inspired me by the white rabbits in the courtyards and growing kiwi just overhead on the trees and remained in my memory as a Cipollino town being a motherland to the Italian writer Gianni Rodari. This image will always remain me of the whole Italy, infantilly kind, fabulously watercolored, a life-affirming country. Sixteen years later I will find myself there again, but already nearby the sea in the sunset hour under the glance of just discovered Sun.
He was sitting on the beach smiling to my water splashes. I was catching the salty clouds of the sea waves with my lips and the feeling that what was happening at that moment has always existed. I believe everybody knows this feeling. It usually happens when someone sees a person or reads a book and catches himself on a thought that he/she has already known the person, has seen him, has read it .. The same I felt on the sea: I had already known it for thousands of years, the SUNny glance from the shore had already smiled to me millions, millions of times. Unwittingly you raise your head to the sky and ask the question: how can this all be?
I am lying on my back like a five-pointed star in the arms of the sea and like a child waiting for an answer to the question. A minute or an hour passes by, and I suddenly see the answer in the yellow glance from the shore – ‘we exist and have always existed’, but earlier maybe in other poems, other elements, which inevitably overflow and coincide us with each other but every time in a new quality and dimension ... I believe in bond. Wrong to say ' bond between people'...I've always been convinced that the eyes express something that is Sur-Life, that there is something behind the pupils which is bigger than our body, bigger than our thoughts, absolutely equal to the size of our feelings. And this sensuous substance will always be lacking the intellect and the words to express itself in order to let us know where it came from, how did it appear inside of us and where does it go after life . I feel someone or something behind this glance that follows me from the shore, and this someone is slowly and confidently spreading inside of me and at the same time I know that it had already spread in me before and knows how to do it to the last drop ... The only rough way to try to name this bond is ‘the bond of the Sun and the Moon’, timeless, otherworldly, behind-the-glance ..
I cherish the hope that it's not a midnight delirium of a lunar person. Experiencing the feeling that I play the piano, my fingers are on the keyboard, the notebook turns into the piano with a screen…
What have I found in this Sun glance? Why did this very Sun glance has spread inside me? How did I sense that it is mine? That we have touched each other before we met?
I am forced to be primitive, but I think it is not possible for me to describe and explain my perception of the Sun in another better way. I’m lying in bed a thousand kilometers away from Him, and I see with his eyes, with his glance a bottle of Evian on the table, I see with His eyes a window, I see with His eyes all that is outside the window, I see the whole Belgium, Italy, the globe with his glance, I’m zooming and I can already see the sun, the moon, the stars .... I am the eyes of my Sun which are in the air and the airless vacuum at the same time… A bottle of Evian turns into the sea, a window turns into the sky, everything outside turns into Stockholm, Belgium - into the country of detectives, Italy - into the place of my birth, the globe - into the decades of searching for me, the sun becomes myself, and the moon departs into my dreams, the stars transform into the silhouettes of kilometers which are between us ... The Sun's glance becomes my glance ..
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