Between contemplating what has already been and doing a Moon expedition there are some curious similarities. Occurring to me the first one with the same frequency of on which I aspire the second one, this cannot be considered a mere coincidence. Every time I mentally recall the places where I have been, no matter if yesterday or the day before that, I feel like some kind of naive lunatic.
To view or to review things, places or people it is not but a frosting flashlight pointed from the last quarter moon. Nothing else but shadow, a thick forest bursting in through colossal enclosures, stone-made people and wind-made animals, nights running throughout the road, this one fading itself into the faded woods. Villages with loose ended or singleton or non-existing roots, remotely revolving with no gravity at all, breathing inside themselves as someone diving in the time’s back. House carcasses with no people at all, being expedited the day before yesterday to the Moon, and by accident.
The movie is dark and the light is a comet, the story’s a doubt, any presence is eternally far and the whole life is slightly more than a village watched from the above.