::Seeking the it.
Somehow last summer was in itself as lovely as being almost-afternoon every morning. Bittersweet was a red berry on august in the United Kingdom...
Moons saying their last little songs before darkness
old English pop rushing to get on time
English tea with spoons that bronz all Scottish hairs into all kinds of orange desire
cities that carry out people seeking a faceless, nameless, completely anonymous, amorphous and non-existing it.
Somehow last summer in Edinburgh was in itself as lovely as being almost afternoon every morning, as if the clouds where whisky fudge and the sky was rhythmically exposed in different shadows of red and yellow…
Having picnics at a hendrix-like castle magic.
While listening with Peter to some van Morrison, Chuck Berry and Morcheeba, feeling like distant creatures drinking Jack Daniels and Johnnie Walker.
Nights in the Uk were so softly drawn that their color changing blue to blue was yet deeper than that of dark a in grey clarity.
Our real problem is that our destiny doesn’t lay, that once we were there, stars were paler than ice water and mornings were deeper than the darkest black tea made in Picadilly circus and Oxford Str. but hell!… they still were.
And as we walked through Scotland’s best place to be, Edinburgh, between middle ages brave hearts and old timers heartbreakers, crowded as it was, with a strange feeling of redness that only comes when one is conscious of it self.
I felt to be a distant creature in my own world….
It was somehow almost a shock, to be surrounded by hundreds of people in broad daylight that have the one and only colour hair you do.
We saw those faces and wondered, what’s behind these masked mannequins that pass by with nothing but a orange-ginger-red sponge on top of their minds. Sometimes I even appeared to be one of them, I took on some of their expressions and performed their wicked accent, smiled, frowned, wave my hands and talked about meaningless things as a fellow offered Peter an certain amount of whisky in exchange of the most hilarious red-hair with no scottish accent at all. I felt as watching my own self in other people as a real me in the unreality of a Scottish world.
Somehow last summer in London was itself as lovely as being almost-afternoon every morning. As if we were in the city and walked around as though it had been waiting for us.
Para Germancho. Ahi tá.
London's Sky Line
Lola a la Scottish!
(Excuses for the poor picture cuality)
.:Lo wrote this at: 10:19 AM:.