03.08.2017 (Thursday)
In motion, towards Chişinău
Noisy music, voices, the road and a lot of yawning
Bad road infrastructure affecting the mobility aspect of the story
I am silent while moving towards Moldavia, a country that feels both troubling and intriguing
Feeling compelled to disregard history and take this country as my own – "Basarabia e România"
Stop being such a calm/scared/boring entity!
This has to do more with an inside/internal/personal journey than anything else
Discovering a different perspective, merely touching the surface though
"În galop, călări, un grup de artişti şi operatori culturali intră în ţara Moldovei pentru a o lua de la cei ce trăiesc într-însa", just joking
The national vein instantaneously filled and pulsating as the border closes
Dreams of a larger, stronger Romanian land awake in an instant as if genetically present in my own DNA
Chişinău
Not much to say more than the obvious – an experience none the less – simultaneous presence of opposites, looks and feels like a dreamland
04.08.2017 (Friday)
Chişinău
An abandoned communist city left to its own scruples
Dead purposeless ruins inhabited by crazy zombies walking around in circles
2 more individuals missing limbs (8th and 9th)
05.08.2017 (Saturday)
Chişinău, in motion back to Iaşi
Thinking cliché – art is larger than life; life, even if tempting, must stay in the shadows as art unravels its mysteries
An art scene that resembles a dry desert with timid European funded flickers of life
Nation waiting to be conquered economically and culturally kept in a stale state by the old empire, drowning in its own piss and blood, taking its last gulps of air, down to its last heartbeats
Financial precarity seems coupled by incompetence, ambiguous ideology and greed
The few last lighthouses will be soon swallowed by the fog of cultural insignificance and incompetence, impotence will roam
There is impotence on the other side of the Prut river to a large extent, still rare signs/arrows of life are being delivered with precision towards the great monster of the western cultural army
Like in the "Sobieski and the Romanians" story, there is still resistance, there are still alive country men inside the walls of the wounded citadel
Soon to fall and it will soon fall – still the only thing left to do is to battle and cause the enemy pain as death slowly takes over
With broken hands and in a state of impotent exhaustion we return towards what we used to call home. We left an eternity ago
I evidently blame the empires as they destroy diversity in their attempt of anticipating any sign of independent thought and resistance
We have accepted our defeat long before the fall of the last man
We profit from the benevolent hand of the master in detriment of our own country men
My mind is overwhelmed by stupid nationalist ideology and I must solemnly accept my incapacity at delivering proper and free thinking
My art sounds/looks like a blunt dead composition but is instead full of subtle harmonies
As the trap closes it gives birth to a horde of unusual noises born in the pits of unending fear
Closure line – lost my train of thought while forcefully trying to put myself in a state of reasonable, proper thinking