torn between nostalgia
and dreams of a future world
where my voice becomes electronic
symbols tethered to a constant
buzzing of nonsensical phrases
repeated over and over again
a futuristic advertising girl
a film reel of dreamscapes and
capitalistic hellscapes
torn between nostalgia
and dreams of a utopia
that only brings nightmares
An Ode to the Girl Who I Could Never Write
The feverish dream feels like a futuristic dreamscape of a world thought to be utopian but turned out to be hellish. The girl became a hologram in the sky, holding drinks one can buy buy buy... A world I could not find myself comfortable in.
I wanted to rip the girl from the holographic nightmare she was encased in, to put her in my pocket and keep her safe, to keep her for myself. But I could only grasp at clouds, at mere pretensions that would not surmount to any tangible reality. She remained a dream that followed me, trying to sell me sugar water and hopes, dreams, something that might lead to a better world. All the while I was aware of the eyes on me, that tried to steer me away from these thoughts, eyes that tried to keep me unaware of the thoughts I started to develop.
But I was sure she saw me, through the screen, the words translated to symbols, eyes that tried to look at me, I could bet she saw me.
The girl became aware, and I was aware of this newfound resistance in her.
We became linked through thin air, aware of the paper-thin connection that could amount to nothing or the world, everything to nothing, the classic hero story that risks it all. But was this the case, did I see her in this light, did I really connect to her to only save her from the grips of this unconscious innocence?
I am not sure what it was that she wanted from me. But I could feel the connection, I could feel her heart pulse through the screen. I could swear there was flesh and bones and blood behind the lifeless imitation of LED lights and robotic movements. I knew that this was not all for nothing.
My mind was set, I needed to save the girl who I could not write from this digital world, where my dreams crossed with nostalgia; where beaches cared for the breaking waves and the smell of summer herbs filled our noses and reminded us of a better time.
I needed to save her from the digital prison she was tied to.
But I could not, as soon as I tried to grab at the images, they turned into clouds that disappeared like mist over the ocean as the sun began to cast its rays of heat. I could not save her from the prison that created her allure and fictions...
Strange musings aside, I do not know why this series of photographs reminded me of the classic holographic scene of Blade Runner. I am not sure why, because this whole series of photographs has nothing dystopian in it per se.
But for some reason, my mind steered in that direction.
That said, the girl with the drinks in her hands, which I still could not write or per down, reminded me of summer sun and cold drinks outside; the smell of rosemary and lavender, the clouds only hinting at summer rains that do not touch our shores, and the smell of laughter coating the air.
Now, we are suffering from cold rains and winds trying to push more rain toward us, in a wet winter season.
The photograph of the left resonates with its sound in the hollows of my mind, and I can still smell the peach on her fingers.
Summer is only a thought away...
Alas, the girl I could not write still evades my touch, the touch of my pen on the paper, the words from materialising into something tangible.
She remained an incomplete poem in my strange mind.
I hope that you enjoyed this instalment of the ode to the girl, which is already 45 posts old (or close to that number!).
And there are still many ideas fermenting in our minds!
For now, happy photographing and keep well.
All of the musings, meanderings, and strange thoughts are my own, albeit inspired by the girl and her strange potions. The photographs are my own, taken with my Nikon D300 and Nikkor 50mm lens.