Prologue in The Subway
Call me spoxx. Long ago – never mind how long exactly – I developed a habit of roaming the subways whenever I felt like `the ceiling was about to drop on my head` (as the say goes in my native tongue).
Whenever I felt such state of mind take possession of me, I’d leave the cage of my study to dive into the sea of faces, bodies, smells, and sounds of the subway. These excursions offered me such experience of sensual alertness, of which my books and papers so often seemed to talk, yet never gave an opportunity of seeing, feeling, touching, breathing…
Yes, it was kind of a voyeuristic intention that drove me – and the vague promise of satisfaction, these subway rides offered to me.
In the lorn hours of the early morning, they sit on insular spots in utmost distance from each other. During rushhours, they seem equipped with an invisible burka to fence themselves off from the presence of their neighbors. There sight is fixed on the headline of this morning’s gazette; they gaze onto the pale screens of their smartphones or iPads; they stare away towards an intangible distance or out beyond the reflections of the subway window into the motion-blurred darkness of the tunnel walls.
And in the faint nights, like an echo from their distant fears and cravings, it clanks from their white earplugs…
See boy Strange
As an example of You
So close to the truth
But still far away
…and then came today. And then there was an eye contact. And then it all began.
Prelude: COLLECTING MOMENTS (video)