Spaces being dear become places so far; the same that makes the house a home. Places are waiting for who’s going to visit like a foreigner finding again his past he was aware of. As like as the mown lawn of the garden that’s no longer his one, becoming unpossessed places to discover, the discovery of what he no longer is, who’s still and yet to come. So, it sounds a bit like figures are cartoon characters playing a part basically the same to act day by day, but subtle variations are performed in style. Thereafter the curtain of ordinarily seeing is brought down and they extraordinarily turn to a new heartfelt life. This soul as like as mantic, perceiving what time wipes out, makes the deaf hearing and the blind seeing. Going to wander places equals to be pointed in a direction: to being twice. Once for imaging, once for figuring out; as long as they don’t exist unless they’re figment of the nourishment before: imagination. And given that as well as writing holds speech it’s not possible to think about a tale without entailing a visual experience, thus that memory vagueness is like passing on something untold because written by image. A sort of uncanny disposition whereby places have no dimensions, space and time no geometry and invisible existence in this theatre is a thousand lives.
