I don’t write much lately. I think about it. I plan. But I don’t do it. I guess that’s what happens when there’s too much to tell. It’s like traffic. When there’s a lot of it, you can always expect it’ll come to a standstill. I don’t publish many photos either. For the same reason and for the fact that I’ve learned at least in my case that nothing is good enough. So I don’t even bother, I just work, do my best, so that I like it, and I don’t really care if I don’t twit a photo or two, or post some on Facebook. Honestly and statistically, who cares. Not only about my work, but what I write as well. I don’t have the energy or even the superhuman skills to have my words about the ways of Slovenian people change their way of thinking in the slightest way. We know what the majority is turning into. They are what they are, let’s just leave it at that. And I sure as hell won’t bother trying to make people care about the disaster that is Dax.🙂
All my life I lived in my own world for many reasons. Not an imaginary world, but the real world devoid of what it is becoming. I had my techniques, I still do, except that as the world deteriorates the harder it is to escape that deterioration. I found shelter in the things I kept close, the things that constituted my life. For the romantics, you could also say the things that my heart was made of. But now I wonder: what’s left of us whose hearts are made of hearts of others when the hearts of others stop beating or are no longer there?
The answer lies in what you saw from me in recent months. Nothing. That doesn’t mean I’m not doing anything. I’m working on a story about the protection of the Venice lagoon, and I’m finishing a very important story about a very special girl, but I simply don’t shout it from the rooftops. I’ve learned by now how useless that is. I just want to do it the way I want it. Visually levelled with what you could practically see from Noor. And my own satisfaction, the awareness that I can do it just as good is all I go for now. I don’t expect to ever reach an agency like that, even with the same quality. Not here, not from here, not with this much care from the community, but it’s ok. I love my work and that’s enough. I know what I am and that’s enough. Forget the financial side of this life, I don’t care how it goes and when it ends, tomorrow, in a year, in three years (when the ministry cancels the support that keeps me from bankruptcy)… It’s a highway to hell in any case, and you know what they say, don’t worry about life, you won’t get out alive anyway.
But you can make a difference.
You know, sometimes your biggest projects to make difference in someone’s life come naturally, without you even knowing. It’s who you are. Your presence, your hand, you coming to visit, being there, linking the present with the past, your whole existence the driving force to someone’s heart through unconditional parental love and care, knowing that you’ll never let go, never leave, abandon or forget… And when it works the other way as well, it’s something that will never go away. Not many people care about me that much, and have been my life … well, all my life. Imagine pillars holding up a building. Yes, you can imagine Venice as well. J Imagine kicking pillars one by one (because there’s not many) from beneath the building. How long before the building collapses? And if that analogy isn’t enough, the one with the lights turning off one by one is quite accurate as well.
Your viccinity counts. That’s all I can say, but I’m old school. In this modern age of diminshing values and rising selfishness, again – who cares. I don’t like the present, its people (or something vaguely resembling them), their values (or lack of them) or the commodity that we are to the majority of scum out there. And I hate the world where there’s one opposite person less. And all I’m left with is personal belongings and a memory of how it used to be.
So that’s my excuse for the five months of silence… Next post will be about the Venice assignment. I promise.