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The Grass Was Greener

21. října 2016 v 20:04 | Aerosol
Zapísať sa na intenzívny kurz Writing and Seeing at 5km/h pre mňa nebola tá najlepšia voľba tohto semestra, no na druhú stranu, aspoň som skúsila niečo nové a neopozerané. Profesorka Rebekah Bloyd nás v rámci výuky zobrala na tri prechádzky po uliciach Brna, a hodiny v triede sme venovali kreatívnemu poňatiu prechádzok, čítaním diel o prechádzkach po meste a vlastnej tvirbe na túto tému. Chcem sa o jedno z týchto mojich diel podeliť. Vrátila som sa do februára 2014, do jedného z momentov, vďaka ktorým som si Brno nakoniec obľúbila.
Takže, tentoraz v angličtine...

The Grass Was Greener



Away.
Away from these dank and damp walls fuelling my sadness, making me feel that my life is consumed by slow decay. But the walls aren't the ones to blame; how could they when it's me who's watering them with tears and making them even damper?
I suppose it's cold outside. I put on my jacket and let my burgundy Oxfords tap tap tap down the stairs, through the old gateway and to the street. It's not raining nor snowing, but the winter proves its presence with a feeling of moisture in the air. The pavement is lit by orange light from the lamp posts which, strangely, makes the street feel both cold and warm at the same time.
I know the street very well, I've walked through it several months now, yet I feel lost. I am lost. The familiar can easily become the strange when one cannot appreciate the infinite maze of neurons inside one's head. Two-minute' walk and I'm in the very centre of this big city, the city that I low-key hate. For some silly reason I can't stop all my messy feelings from rushing out of my eyes. 'Suppress it, girl.' I say. 'Don't let it become you. Don't get addicted to this kind of sadness.'
So I stop for a moment and breathe and listen to the beating of my heart, wishing to calm down and see clearer, but when I open my eyes again, everything I see still misses the silver lining. As much as I'd like to forget everything and embrace all the quirkiness of the city, I can't. Even the tall, black astronomical clock on the main square sticks out from the ground like a middle finger. Mean. Unwelcoming. Quietly asking me to get out and never come back.

Away.
Away from all the things that drain me and drag me down.
Mindlessly and with a sigh I move towards the yet unexplored, the veins of the city that might lead me to organs somewhat more pleasant. But the slam poetry of the streets lacks the rhyme and rhythm and clashes with my thoughts.
The motion of my feet, however, makes its own rhythm. Tap tap tap tap. It echoes in the darkness and, yes, it is more comforting than staring at the faceless wall in my bedroom. The unknown streets spark my curiosity and curiosity is always a good thing.
I turn left and stop with the sight of two different paths possibly leading to the same place, a gothic church towering high above my head. At the end of one street, there's a regiment of stairs staring at me, inviting me to explore a gateway guarded by a tired tree; while behind the corner hides a narrower alley paved with cobbles, resembling an old painting.
Dragged by the force of some inner tide, I enter the narrow street, approaching slowly and carefully. Suddenly I realize that I like what I see and I want to enjoy everything that the scene has to offer. I know that on some other day I would walk through the street mindlessly without even thinking about looking left or right. I would completely overlook the wall on the right side or think it an ordinary wall and the massive marble boards on it wouldn't even exist in my perception of the street.
However, today I notice their sharp edges and smooth surface. Curiosity wins over me and I decide to face the first of the marble boards. Suddenly, when I'm close enough, the old stone starts speaking to me.

One who cannot stand themselves
will not be redeemed
neither by places far away
nor roses of the sweetest smell.

One who cannot stand themselves
will shy away from mirror's face
and desire to run away
when the right choice is to stay.
Klement Bochořák: Routes and stays, 1953

Stay.
Stay here and let a faint smile appear on your cheeks. And wonder. How long does this engraved huge-ass brick hang on the wall? How many people have already seen it? I don't know, but I feel like right now it is here for me.
I stand there for a while, half smiling, half sobbing, but most of all appreciating the moment shaped by my accidental choice of direction. Then I look around. Everything; the cobblestones, the lamp posts, each brick of the wall create the feeling that I finally am where I am supposed to be.
Slowly I start walking again, approaching an arc that frames the path. Like Alice, I enter a whole new world within the world I know, and I find myself on a terrace with a few benches here and there around a well-kept lawn. I shiver as a sudden blow of chilling wind stumbles over me, but the air tastes fresh and empowering, and I greedily fill my eyes with the loveliness of the scene. After a while I peep behind the corner, lean over a brick fence and gasp in astonishment, as the whole city lies beneath me, dressed in strings of fairy lights. Everything shines with a promise that I can find the devices to turn hate into love. Everything exults upon seeing my face, finally smiling and calm and ready.
 

Buď první, kdo ohodnotí tento článek.

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1 lososový kvet lososový kvet | 22. října 2016 v 16:51 | Reagovat

hat´s off

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