Visit also La Llibreta Vermella: it's not a perfect mirror,
but it's a reflection of the same soul.

[If you find out some mistake in my english, please warn me.]

Thursday 19 May 2011

Sharing_minds (compartments)

Photos and text, six hands
The challenge, with images, HERE

They are only stones, cold. They are only holes repeating forever. They are only shadows, black, playing to be people, spying, running away, weeping.

And the sea on the background, endless, and the sky in calm.

* * *

You and me, two windows. I look at you, but you don’t look at me. I am looking, but I don’t watch you. I am looking, I am looking for you… Where are you? In the sky there is a blue stain on a cotton curtain. One brushstroke, one poor skilled painter. You and me, two windows, two black stains… Where are you?

* * *

– I am afraid of heights.
– You are afraid to falling.
– I am afraid of heights – you insist.
– You are afraid to falling – I insist.
– Is it not the same?
– It is not the same.

* * *

Freedom is a sky without borders, it is an space opening to the infinite, it is a handful of frayed clouds pursuing each other without fear of falling.

Freedom is a door, it is a threshold, it is an opportunity…

Freedom has to be walking through. Are you coming?

* * *

Jordina and Jordi decided to jump. The two of them at the same time. “Is it not going to be dangerous?” Jordi stammered. “It’s only a meter!” Jordina exclaimed. Jordina and Jordi climbed to the windowsill, one window for each one. Jordina and Jordi counted to three, each one looking at his floor. Jordina felt on the kitchen floor, happy to be live. Jordi felt from a sixth floor. He had never seen Sesame Street.

* * *

– It’s like… I don’t know.
– Like… What?
– You are in front of me, but...
– But… What?
– You smile at me, and nothing would make me happier than embrace you, and I know that you want it too...
– And... What?
– Something is between us.
– What?
– Nothing.

[In catalan: Comparti_ments]

Sunday 8 May 2011

She is still somewhere

When I was younger, I used to know a child. She was always happy, she loved to read books and she was absolutely sure about what she would become when she was an adult: a teacher. She loved children and she wanted to help them to learn a lot of things. She also loved writing and she daydreamed about inventing new stories for them. One day, without warning, she grew up and disappeared. I grew up too and I forgot about her. Today, writing this little story, I have just remembered her. I don’t know where she is right now… But I’m sure that she is still somewhere, inside me.

[In catalan: Encara és en algun lloc]