Saturday, 12 December 2009
I haven't changed my sweater but none seems to realize it.
We're three, a friend of her has come to visit us. However, today she's leaving, and we're going to slowly sip other fascinating places of this land while inexorably approaching Belfast International Airport.
I'm going to drive. Headed towards the Sperrin Mountains, it's not long after that a CD of oneiric Russian music has finished playing that we drop out of the car.
It's all damp.
We hear a river, but we can't locate it.
We knew that a church should be somewhere around here, but it's out of our sight as well.
Scared firs are drawing back from the lying corpses of the cut ones, trying to avoid the infection..
Perhaps the church is under construction, we don't know, but for sure, if that's the case, it's going to be a Cathedral!
While I study how to take a photo of the blue sky reflected on the surface of a puddle, the girls set off on the climbing road in front of us
and so I decide to postpone the photo until the way back.
After we've been walking for about 15 minutes, a clearance on the right suggests us that perhaps it was a natural church. We can breath the holyness of the place. I put away the camera and we pray.
We pick up walking again. After a while, the wall of firs on the left is unexpectedly broken by a green road.
I feel like being in the middle of a motorway, with the only difference that all the cars've been cast away, like Adam and Eve from the paradise. Then she calls my name. I turn my head but I can't see her 'cause then the horn of a car blows up screaming loudly into my ears. I instinctively lift my shoulders up around my head and protract my hands out in a defensive attitude, I guess the car is approaching very fast, I didn't see it at all, and, Oh my God, where the hell's this car come from, here, in the middle of nothing? Shit, it's going to splatter my friends up with me and maybe I start shrieking, or maybe not, I don't know, but the horn's still there and then, then she reaches to my arm, she shakes me, Nicola you ok? I look towards the motorway but all the cars've been cast away, like somebody from somewhere, Nicola, what's up? The motorway is staring at me, I know that but you know what? How on the earth am I going to tell them? You're tired? Oh no, com'on, how can I possibly even think of it? Yes.. I mean, I mean I'm fine, I must've just slept not enough yesterday night, you know, I've seen that movie, probably you were right not seeing it, it must've impressed me so much, probably there was kind of a bird, it must've suddenly flight away out of nothing, out of some branch.. They all look like the same, these branches.. Chirping squeak, the bird, the thing, I mean it must've have chirped very squeak and yes, I shouldn't have driven all that way, you were right, but now, now I'm fine, now.. Can I have a sip of water?
At the base of the firs there are little, apparently sleeping beings. I brace myself and, taking a breath as big as possible, on tiptoe I get silently closer to them, trying not to let them understand my edginess.
I can't find out, but it seems all fine. A breath of relief.
We pick up walking again.
At a certain point the road branches off. Straight ahead we could keep climbing.
But the top, being too far away, disheartens our faint hopes.
We turn left, better to remain on the flat.
Our friend has to pee. We wait further ahead. In the meanwhile I glance at the wood around us. A slight sinister scene shows at my feet. A majestic tree has been unseated from its grasp to the ground and then covered by alive and growing green cobweb.
Other trees, being covered by the same sort of cobweb, but still on their feet, frame a picture of time, backward-like.
Not long afterwards we decide that the curch won't show up any more, definitely, even though, actually, it was already out of our thoughts since long. Now it's my turn to pee. I tell my company to go ahead, I am going to reach them soon.
While I pee it starts raining. I pull up the hood. I enter a different place.
The sound of the drops on the hood is the anchor that keeps me clung to the world..
A shiver runs down my spine. I set off too. Better to reach soon the company.
On the right I notice fallen trunks..
I have the impression as if earlier they were not there.. Hm, the girls must be behind the bump of the road. I quicken my step.
After I've reached the top, I acknowledge the fact they're not there. It didn't take me so long to pee, but.. But yeah, probably I got lost into my thoughts longer than I thought, all this story is making me crazy, ok, but I notice something, what's that? Yes.. No, it's not a spider, it's just a thin shadow that is slowing climbing up along my legs, yes, but what is moving then? And then I hear the hiss and I make a step to the right but it's the wrong direction 'cause just behind me a thud like a lightning makes me jump!
A big tree fallen just so close to me!! Now I'm sure, something is chasing me! The idea of them going around just behind my hood as I was peeing there makes me shiver even more. I start running!
I run, I run,
but my friends
don't show up!
I run, I run,
and the rain comes back,
to slow my pace,
to make me wept.
Still no trace of my company,
but I'm sure,
something is chasing me!
I can't see it,
it must be hiding in the wood,
it must be following me
from behind the trees!
Have they already catched my friends? The only chance that I have is to run away from here and hope that they are at the bottom of the path, maybe they have already called for help, if they won't be there, I'll call the police, my mobile has to be with me, I try to find it by touch, I can't but it does not shock me at most,
what does shock me
is what I see:
the motorway's been completely dried up! What's this? That's not possible at all! Maybe.. Have we ended up in a top secret military zone? Will a start coughing? Are they using some special gas? Testing any virus?? The allucination that I've got earlier! Oh my God, the allucination is the proof of it.. Will I be able to keep running? No, I won't: the ground is slippery like the bottom of the see
and I fall indeed.
And all I can see
it's an iced cobweb
Iced cobweb waiting for me.
It keeps my body and it keeps my soul as well:
I become small like an ant
and start going around,
behind this branch,
on top of that leave,
until I see
until I see something which terrifies me:
the little beings,
the apparently sleeping beings,
moved to one side,
like hot lava
they are swarming towards me!
What the Hell is this? Are they poisoning spiders? Poisoning spiders about to their birth?
The mountain must be doomed, all this place must be doomed, yes, it is definitely doomed, and the spiders are the fruit of it. They must've been created together with some toxic fumes.. I must've been inhaling them.. And now they're getting me!!!
Then I automatically try to flee, but my body is trapped, the cobweb is preventing my escape, the cobweb is keeping me!
But when I, desperate, close my eyes, and wait just for my death, then something soft grabs gently my hand, and lifts me up: it's them!They were not evil! A solid joy floods inside my hearth.. And we're flying, I can't believe! They nod upwards: I look up and tracks are there, majestic like trees
We're travelling on them, and then they point aside, towards a small distant white dot: I can recognize, after a while, that it's a plane, and then I can't believe, it's like with a periscope, our friend I can see! But then.. Where is SHE? I turn around and they're gone, but I'm lying on my bed, and she's staring at me.
Where are we?
Dear, you've been sleeping for ten hours and now you've just woken up. You were struggling and talking a lot as well, but now, my dear, don't worry, now it's going to be fine: the medecine is working out, tomorrow you'll be back on your tracks,
tomorrow it'll be a nice day,
without bad dreams!
Thursday, 3 December 2009
Thursday, 17 September 2009
Incastrati dentro questo corpo.. Io mi sento nella mente: la fronte, attraverso gli occhi, un belvedere che si affaccia a strapiombo sul mondo! Fumare allora è come abbassare le tendine e starsene un po' lì dentro.. Attenzione: potrebbe anche essere claustrofobico! "Aiuto! Voglio uscire!" Ma non c'è niente da fare: ora dovrai aspettare, almeno per un po', rimanere lì. Tanto vale dunque di cercare di mantenere i nervi saldi... Almeno fino a quando non partiranno le giostre!
Tanti rispondono che, se la vita durasse in eterno, non avrebbe senso, non ci sarebbero nè gioia, nè dolore.. Si potrebbe pensare allora a godersela finchè si può! Ma allora, la vita non potrebbe essere goduta in eterno? Evidentemente, secondo il ragionamento precedente, no.. Già la parola "eterno" è qualcosa di incomprensibile per noi: domandiamocelo un attimo: "per sempre", che significa? Per sempre... Sempre... La prima cosa che mi è venuta in mente è che non si avrebbe più bisogno dei governi nazionali, della polizia, tanto nessuno potrebbe ucciderci.. Beh, però, un attimo: una persona potrebbe essere rapita e messa in uno stato di dolore permanentemente perenne: ahi.. Però quasi che così la vita eterna acquista un senso, anche se in negativo.. Che il senso della vita sia il dolore?? La felicità e il dolore, da un certo punto di vista, non sembrano simmetrici: il dolore fa sempre male, la gioia fa bene solo all'inizio (quando dicono che le storie a lieto fine devono per forza finire col famoso "e vissero felici e contenti" è questo che intendono: la storia (raccontata) viene troncata in un momento di climax, perchè poi subentrerebbe la noia!). Allora però eternità significa che neanche il dolore può esserci, e quindi che il dolore, nella nostra vita, sia addirittura qualcosa di prezioso, affinchè la vita stessa sia tale! Beh, non me lo sarei aspettato proprio di arrivare a questo punto, ma direi che è un ottimo momento per chiudere ;)
Thursday, 30 July 2009
Saturday, 14 March 2009
Le prime volte mi sono preoccupato.
Ora capisco che è normale.
Tuesday, 10 March 2009
More than for my own (discutable) pleasure of writing, I have posted this story in order for anybody to get to know this beautiful land, this time let me call it just Ireland, with no political distinctions between the Republic and Northern Ireland, land that I am falling in love with more and more as time passes (and maybe also as spring approaches..).
Grianan of Aileach, as Wikipedia reports, is a group of historic monuments. For those interested in knowing more, this is the link to the page that Wikipedia dedicates to it:
From there, Inch Island looks like that:
The bridge that we used to get into Inch Island is the one on the right, while the one that we used to get out is the one on the left. Louch Swilly is the name of the waters sorrounding the island. Inch Island is located in County Donegal, in the north of the Republic of Ireland, not far away from Derry/Londonderry, the city where I live, which is actually in Northern Ireland, just before the boundary.
Sunday, 8 March 2009
Sunglasses & rucksack, hiking boots & hats, we leave home at 10,55 a.m.
The city is desert.
We only see five men going to their car.
One of them hangs back, taking snapshots of the empty streets in a rather frantic way.
We are like in the film of yesterday: we don't talk, just walk.
It's me who is going to drive. She changes destination. Not anymore the Burt Castle.
I start the engine and then put the gear.
The car moves.
We are leaving.
We have parked the car: it's 11,35 a.m.
We start hiking.
On the right, black crows are flying and then land on a green field where there already are white geese.
The green field is separated from us by a stream whose water bubbles.
On the left side, a mound, taller than us, runs parallel to our path. On top of it, the wind blows amongst the row of trees.
Behind us, Grianan Aileach, from its height, watches our way.
In front of us, in line with Grianan Aileach, seems to wait for us another mountain.
We reach a little wood. When inside, we hear birds cheaping.
Once outside, we encounter a first bridge: it's accessible.
However, fallen branches and brambles block the access to a second bridge: seemingly, we have to go back.
Yet, there's a Tready Point Hide: we look for the bridge to Inch Island, our destination, but we can't find it. Walking down some steps, we just advance ahead, toward Louch Swilly. Now we see the bridge, but we don't know how to reach it.
Climbing back up, I help her taking her hand: for the first time this morning our bodies touch.
Unexpectedly, she finds a gate that gives on a road: we jump over it and decide to give it a try.
Faraway, on the right, grey clouds threaten rain. The light is rather orangish. We are strangers here and if we are wrong, the rain won't make it better.
This situation reminds me of a story from my childhood: it was winter when two foreign women got lost in the mountains; after the winter, only theirs bones were found.
Now I am scared.
But then I recall that the rain here is different: here the rain is usually thin. I feel a bit more optimistic..
Sheep standing on a hill turn their faces and stare at us.
We bleat at them, but they don't answer.
They look aggressive.
Our steps must have scared some ducks that suddenly fly away and, on their turn, scare us.
I make a joke: she laughs and even gives me a clap on my bum.
I interpret this fact as she's forgiven me.
We are walking for a long time...
..When I lift my head and the bridge to Inch Island reveals itself to us:
it is an epiphany and we are like in a dream.
It looks like an oasis and all is quiet.
There are a few swans floating on the water.
They are quiet too.
As crossing the bridge, two of them come toward us, stop and start fishing:
their bodies just flip, their heads drowning the whole necks into the blue water, the feathers of the round tail questioning the sky, blue as well.
Two men, binoculars on tripods, are watching them.
We watch the men.
Now we are on Inch Island.
She is getting already hungry. It's 12,25.
Greanan Aileach is in front of us: we are half the way.
The other mountain has lost its concern about us and is not waiting anymore.
Numerous sheep's offspring are playing together: otherwise than before, they are not aggressive and bleat back at us.
Pink laundry, hanging in front of a house, makes me think of happy girls' childhoods: long hair, running and laughing on these greenish meadows.
A yellow Donegal County Concil site note declaims "half storey abitable dwelling and detached domestic garage": eventually I have found somebody who parks the car in the garage.
On top of a hill, a roofless house is letting itself be swallowed by dark ivy. A black polished SUV pops out of the bend in front of the house and is heading at us.
It speeds up as it climbs down the hill.
The road is narrow.
It is going to swallow us forever.
In a desperate attempt, or rather already to forgive our careless killer like Jesus on the cross, I greet raising my hand.
The driver raises the forefinger from the steering wheel.
I perceive he's a good man and didn't come for war.
The SUV passes us and I have to admit that it's not a violent experience: in fact, after some seconds, we are still standing and I can easily recognize my perception was right.
Now we can see the bridge that should bring us back to the mainland.
Our map apparently states that it's not practicable, but we knew it from the beginning.
Now the moment of truth has come.
The water is grey. A gloomy darkish castle oversees the entrance to the open see.
The air is even darker.
Better to quicken the pace.
On the right side of the road, while walking I catch sight, via a little hole between thick olive-green bushes, of a house. There is a little square of light-green grass in front of it and the whole thing is sorrounded by the same thick olive-green bushes.
Damp white walls sorround a turquoise door.
I recognize The Master and Margherita live here. A feeling of repletion lets me beamingly keep this secret in my heart.
A lot of sheep, this time all shouting at us.
It's a concert.
We have intruded their intimacy. The intimacy of Inch Island.
I feel discovered. But, at the same time, I feel we have reached our destination.
Now we do have to go back.
We meet a slow cyclist. His slowness makes me aware of our fast pace.
My shirt is wet.
The beginning of the bridge to go back to the mainland should be at the base of the hill which we are on top of, but we still can't see it.
To approach it, we should enter a private property.
She wouldn't like to, but it's only sort of a barn without the house, which is set apart by a high enclosing hedge, so we enter.
We smell the stink of a dog, but no trace of it, so we go further.
We reach a metallic gate.
After that, a lunar landscape, made of brown earth with plenty of yellow plants cut at the base still prevents us from viewing the beginning of the bridge.
The solitude of the place suggests me just to go, but she's still reluctant.
We decide to look for someone to ask to.
Passing by the hedge, the snout of a white dog appears from a hole in it.
At first my instinct puts myself on the defensive, but soon we understand that it's a docile dog and then I try to appeal it to me to stroke it, but it's also a shy dog, and we are left with nothing else than searching for someone else.
However, we are shy too and, rather than to ask at the house, we prefer to go back on the road.
After a few steps, we find a stable and decide to try there.
The way is occupied by a huge resting tractor. The engine is off. Nevertheless, it's impressive even so, and we are compelled to sink our shoes into the mud.
Leaning our elbows on another metallic gate, we shout an inquiring "Hello?" trying to overwhelm the moo of invisible cows.
After some moments, the first human contact of the day: a farmer slowly comes out of the stable and stops at the right distance from us.
Raising his squinting eyes, he offers us a benevolent look.
His wrinkled skin tells us his dignity.
His words, that we have to overcome our shyness:
- "I wouldn't know how to reach the bridge, I'm not from here. Try to ask at that house".
After thanking and saying goodbye, as soon as we turn about toward the road, we see the white dog running away.
Only not seen, it had come next to us.
From a bigger hole in the hedge, we see two young brothers, half-hidden, doing something together.
I call them, but they don't answer.
Then, we understand why.
The father is coming: the second human contact of the day is going to take place.
I just say that we were hiking and that we wanted to cross the bridge to go back to the mainland.
It seems that we have just to jump over the former gate, the one that led to the moon, and then we'll find easily the passage to the bridge.
Consequently, I thank and say goodbye again.
She lets me note that the man is letting us pass by his property.
While we turn around the hedge to go to the main entrance of the property, I feel a bit ashamed.
He's a nice man.
His children rather diffident.
The white dog definitely happy!
Exchanging a few words, overall to describe the path to the bridge, the little crowd accompany us to the boundary of the property.
We thank once more and say goodbye.
This time it's the right time.
Walking on the moon is exciting as I had expected.
The land is a light slope.
After shortly we can locate the beginning of the bridge and then we quickly find the passage to it.
Before starting the crossing, unconsciously knowing that our prey can't run off any longer, we set down to gain some relief and start eating the sandwiches that we had prepared earlier in the morning.
We are about to say goodbye to Inch Island: as always before saying goodbye to something known, we look around trying to fix every little detail.
The water is still grey.
On the right, the gloomy castle still oversees the entrance to the open see but now appears to be at the limit of a little bay where the caw of the surviving black crows echoes bleak.
On the left, a few white swans on the still water seem to ignore the other half of the world.
In this point of the shore, the brownish grass is wet, sealing the closeness of the two emispheres.
While we cross the bridge, a very thin rain compels us to use the hoods of our anoraks.
Water is everywhere: on our sides, on our faces.
After a while that we are walking on the mainland, her legs start hurting.
Later on, my legs start hurting too.
I mull over whether the society will accept us back, or rather whether we will accept the society back. I come to the agreement of a new viewpoint of the society.
It's 14,05 when we are back to the car.
Back to home, I take my sunglesses off and put them on the table.
The world looks so different that I wonder if I have just been dreaming..