Exit sounds from the asphalt world


Prologue for the non-stop open streets…

What would you say if someone asked you what the streets mean to you? It’s probably difficult to come out with an answer right away and it’s kind off odd that someone might ask you such a thing. The streets might be everything and nothing at all and the way in which people define them using just a few key words shows how different we all are and how various our perspectives are according to our interest and personal experience.

Some people think about vehicles, pedestrians, zebra crossing, traffic, noise, concrete, width, buildings, stores, advertising, cats and dogs, progress, motion, speed, necessity, pollution, suburbs, beggary, prostitution, mafia, but also about promenades, music, dance, love, protests, images, colours, nature, green…

I’m going to tell you a story about the streets from the point of view of a person who decided to take a walk on a lazy morning….


Monologue from above the never ending wall…

Let’s just say that one day you’ll wake up and find out that you’ve been living all your life in a place called YtilaeR. Such a strange name isn’t it? Still you manage to get out and decide to take a long walk on the streets that don’t seem to have a name, which makes it difficult not to get lost. 

From around the corner you can hear some music and when turning left to see what’s happening you come across a street band whose members have pink hair and deep blue eyes. They don’t seem to mind you so you can relax and listen to the echo of their voices while sitting on the sidewalk near the drums. ‘
 

 
Strangers passing in the street, By chance two separate glances meet, And I am you and what I see is me. And do I take you by the hand, And lead you through the land, to help me understand, The best I can…
’…the song goes on and on and everything   around you looks like a sequence from something that you’ve seen before…a book, a movie, a dream…or maybe it’s all somewhere in your mind….
     
Your train of thoughts is violently interrupted when a coin hits you in the head. You stand up and take a few steps towards the woman who stares at you from a distance. She looks familiar but her firm posture reveals disgust and fear at the same time…

She starts mumbling something about going home where you belong. “It’s a jungle out here you punk! Do you beg for drugs? Are you an addict? Did you get involved with those old pink haired people?  Don’t listen to them…whey are the ones who live behind the wall and come here trying to mess up our existence with their stupid music. In the beginning people listened to their lyrics but almost all of them ran away when finding out what they were planning. They want us to break the walls…the pillars of the only thing that’s real and safe for us people! Go home you silly boy and if you’ll meet them again some day, remember not to look in to their eyes…that deep blue always scares people!”

The woman turns away and disappears in the crowd. You find yourself at a crossroad and decide to walk on a different direction than the one you came from. Like an echo the music comes from everywhere… ‘And did they get you to trade Your heroes for ghosts? Hot ashes for trees? Hot air for a cool breeze? Cold comfort for change? And did you exchange A walk on part in the war For a lead role in a cage…’

 


Dialog with life…

“You look confused. Are you lost?” the little girl askes you? “You can ask me for directions ‘cause I know my way around here. I live right there in the park. That is my home!” The skinny tiny girl takes you by the hand and you start walking side by side…

“How come you live here? Where are your parents? Where is your house?”  “I told you that this is where I live.  I’m happy here. I get to sleep on the grass and drink water from the fountain. I always see the moon when I go to sleep and wake up with the sun. The rain washes my clothes and the birds sing for me everyday…I have everything I need and I’m happy. From time to time I leave the park and walk on the nearby streets to look at people. They don’t look like me at all. Their skin is pale and they never take off their shoes…they are always in a hurry and never come to the park…they live between walls and turn their backs when they see me…they don’t let their children  play outside and seem to be afraid of one another…but from time to time they smile. Why do you look at me like this? Don’t you like the park? Are you scared of me?”

You take a look around and sudently fall on the ground. Everything inside you breaks from the pain of the crashing body and the music penetrates your flash…’Through the fish-eyed lens of tear stained eyes I can barely define the shape of this moment in time And far from flying high in clear blue skies I’m spiraling down to the hole in the ground where I hide…’


Epilogue for the streets of ytilaeR…

You open your eyes and see blue. You crawl on the wet grass but there is no one around to help you stand up. The little girl smiles and takes your hand but she can’t help you out this time. A man approaches but still he keeps a distance. After a few seconds he starts shouting “You stoned punk! Get a job! Get a real life!”.
You manage to get up somehow and start walking towards the street. A deep breath of fresh air makes you wanna lay down for a second. Maybe you want to stay in the park for a while but the life you know is out there, where the grass becomes concrete …where the dreams are always painted in black and white…where people have high aspirations…and build walls to protect themselves from one another…

Everything looks familiar and strange at the same time: the park, the little girl, the people in the street, the noise, the music…You just lay down and let everything pass you by…it’s funny how you managed to have half of the body on the grass and the other half on the street. This is where I met you for the first time and decided we should stick together for a while…

I stayed because I’ve seen myself in you…‘In truck stops and hamburger joints…In Cadillac limousines…In the company of has-beens…And bent-backs and sleeping forms…On pavement steps…In libraries and railway stations…In books and banks…In the pages of history…In suicidal cavalry attacks…And in wheelchairs by monuments…Under tube trains and commuter accidents…In council care and county courts…At Easter fairs and sea-side resorts….In drawing rooms and city morgues…In award winning photographs Of life rafts in the China seas…In transit camps, under arc lamps…On unloading ramps…In faces blurred by rubber stamps…I recognise…Myself in every stranger’s eyes…’
 
All lyrics by Pink Floyd & Roger Waters
Photos by Mihai, Simina, Radu

 

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