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a land called Saramago

last night I had a dream. yes, that I never dream last night I did. did not happen while I was asleep and even while I was awake, it happened somewhere else, in a foreign country. a place where things happen only with a semblance of reality, as reflected in the shadows in a cave, who believes her true if one has never seen another.

there, no one knew me, of course, and I do not know anybody. are anywhere past completely unnoticed. that's where I get to be in another place, I, because in the end I wanted to thank everyone. because of what I cut the road with the car, which was not even noticed me on the strips, thanks to the cashier at the supermarket where I bought something that I was not greeted with the usual phrases of circumstance, in fact I do not greeted at all, has not even looked up from the tray of coins, thanks to passers-by that I bounced him along the crowded streets and even the cops that I have sought the documents, searched, arrested and then released for lack of evidence and therefore I was not asked nor given an explanation. I'd asked me, but never feel like you're not all black like us, a thing so I wanted to know it. they do not.

me is to thank you all, thank you, because you are not the others, those that I care, those who care about me, who I fit with the responsibilities, decisions, love, mothers, children, wives, lovers, dogs and cats, colleagues and friends. none of this. thank you, because I can not hear your reasons because I do not feel sorry for you, why not share your fate, because it affected my thanks because you are not manufacturers of bonds, not for me.

course, when she arrived in the morning and the black and white has faded in the usual world of color, I thought that he should dwell more on these topics, because for sure I would like family, because lately maybe even work, because you never know love, because I made commitments, fortunately I do not have dogs and cats but you can never say. in short, all these thoughts I here, after all, I love him. that is why I a hypocrite and I do not say it to him that deep hate them a little '.

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witness journal

you may not particularly interest to anyone. it is likely that the four people who more or less regularly frequent this blog have already heard it (since for a good 75% are members of my family or similar). but they are ten days that I do not write here, I spent the whole basis of "photo blog" that I had put aside for lean times photo and then I see it as a bit 'of this event will remain just that track here.

short, the monthly magazine of photojournalism online journal witness, this month published a bit 'reports of shots from the Kurdish people (yes, again those with whom you suffocate for almost 10 months!).

are satisfied, however, if I have to tell the truth, witness, I will I mandate even more photos that I think were most significant, a little more personal. for charity, thanks for your consideration, but the fact is that one is never satisfied ...

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in-differences

I read somewhere that the so-called non-places are defined as such because in them is not life, that you pass but you are not.

then, when we train, we go up or go down the subway, when we wait for security checks at an airport or even less cathartic, push the shopping cart down the aisles of a shopping center in all of these moments we of non-persons.

I wonder why every time I watch the passers-by spells, because I seem so human. I begin to suspect it is the fact that I really enjoy shopping.

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eingabe berlin / Ausgabe

the end, looking back, I saw a tower, a wall and four stone blocks. and around the city is beautiful, peaceful, affluent, comfortable, romantic in its own way. Yet these few things I have done very impressive.