If you cannot sleep, you can write to me.
And so I did, as I imagined sitting on the entrance steps of my block with a
notepad on my knees, writing disparate ideas with my impossible handwriting
under the pale light of a street lamp, smoking maybe. Or thinking. Maybe.
First
entry log, 03.01.2017
This is the first letter to you. Actually, it should have been better for me to learn how to paint. There are colors and actions and images that come through mind when I think about writing to you. Anything, but words. It is hard to convey the sensation of flight, a purple flight as I saw it. You know, the first words that hit me hard on 1st day of this year were “leap of faith”. I don’t know if you have ever felt a word echoing in your mind for hours. As if, those syllables were reflected over and over by each and every bone in the skull. To go to sleep with that word buzzing in your ears and wake up just to hear it again at different intensity. And the sensation of flight, like a back jump in large twirls with the arms wide open, half human-half bird. Few days later, I saw this picture. And I kept thinking about it. In the end it was part of the answer I might have been looking so far “you have to make quick decisions to optimize your time in the air”.
Second entry log, not dated
She
wrote this to me and probably she wrote it to you too: “If you can imagine
yourself sitting in an exotic forest, and behind you there is an a
old deserted temple, with moss covering the broken walls, with vegetation among
the standing ruins, and in front of you is the jungle and you hear all sorts of
birds sounds and insects buzz, and you see the light hitting the ground among
the trees and you have that blurry impression of smoke or fog....and it’s hot,
really hot... well, so it was.”
And I wish I could say holodeck please reconfigure the scenario according to the description.
Change status to permanent. Save. Thank you. Just to enter, barefoot, take
a few steps and then take a sit with the legs loosely crossed, close the eyes
and turn the palms upwards breathing slowly. And instantaneously another images
popped up in my mind in some sort of anime-esque CGI form with two transparent
aliens, floating delicately like some aerial jellyfish, conveying
telepathically messages to each other: “This is how they connect to the
matrix?!” “No, this is how they shine”.
Third
entry log: 6th of the same month
Dear
Eve, your mom has just sent me a short message inviting me to your party. Your
baptizing party, but I am pretty sure you have no idea what I am talking about.
Anyways, you will find out soon. Not in the most pleasant way, I dare to
anticipate, but however... I shall come back with a post-party report later on,
telling about all the things you may be interested in someday, how was your
mom, how she looked like, was her dress pretty, stuff like that, bit gossipy,
bit fun. How anxious was your dad, or maybe excited, or nervous. “Is that bloody servant of God aware of what is he doing?! Oh god why do I accept all
this creepy show...damn I will kill him if something happens to you. With the candle-holders.
No, with my bare hands”. I am thinking what kind of present I should buy to a
few months old little girl. Something interesting, meaningful, pretty. I don’t
know yet. I cannot ask for directions, because as you might have known by now,
it’s supposed to be a surprise gift. There will be a letter for sure “Dear Eve,
bla bla bla”, maybe a snapshot of that day, “Dear Eve, on 28 January it snowed a
lot and it was pretty cold”, a picture of you “This is you minutes before the
event”, of your parents maybe “your parents, sort of livid, bit expressionless,
but deep down really happy”, “Your clueless godparents, trying to figure out
what they were supposed to do” and a box to hide everything in. Wooden, or
metal. With some floral patterns or engravings, where you could hide later on bits
of first things you’ll ever experience.
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