Calries In Pink Grapefruits

Doganieri, incense and snow: The three east

There are endless forests, stars, candles, candles lit in the villages who live in the suburbs of Europe. Icons hidden in the shadows sottosbosco incense and coaches that have become souvenirs for tourists. Yet I took a train to those who stop at nothing in the middle of the desert and snow. From the windows of a white coat all: fog, sleet, ice, dew and the scent of birch with white bark that resists near indomitable mule and shepherds. Here, when the moon is always neon: a beacon in the sky and people often forget that history has made them the most God-fearing

I love all forms of poverty in their magnitude: caryatids are long and indefinite as the hills Polish worlds neighbors and strangers who are sniffed and thoroughly penetrated although to get here, there are still borders and who crosses them is not just a physical transition, but also heart-pounding emotion: in or out. An imaginary line, a line reminiscent of chalk on blackboards. I took buses and trams, I let myself be guided by instinct and I could not write in my notebook's obsolete - and discolored - plastic bags of old ladies with their faces carved from the cold, the customs officers that wherever you meet them, leading police to suspect with the merchandise found in homes with no name of the revolt against the regime. But when you're well, your always becomes a journey that goes beyond time. I would like to visit Ukraine and what remains of eastern Europe, which is the last black and white photography the world of yesterday that still does not pay the bill with capitalism and globalization. I wish I could say one day: " I walked across the boundaries of the East to live the last hours of prayers and a cultural reservoir capable of breaking all boundaries - language and - in the search for ecstasy. any ecstasy ".

Krakow,
writings un'errante that backpack and love the havaianas