March 12. El Café.

Good day, writing. The apartment didn’t have an airconditioning but that didn’t bother me. I wrote on this very experimental travel writing thing, associating freely words and thoughts I don’t believe in. Where did this writing take place? I try to remember. It was a round table in a kitchenette, a glass table you can look through, and I did not write enough. I felt incomplete in the small room that gradually heated up as the sun reflected in the windows of the tall building that dominated the view from behind the half closed curtains. Inspiration becomes a little devil once you have some nihilism in your veins.

That night we moved on for reasons of tact. A gasstation functioned as a pick-up spot – couchsurfing in Santiago take two.
Pablo is the friendliest guy you can imagine. He picked us up at the gas station and started to proudly show us his city right away. On our way to his apartment we passed some crowded streets that reminded me of certain areas in Berlin during hot summers. People like going out in Santiago. After leaving our bags in his apartment and a quick refreshing shower, we went out to a bar called “el café”. I was fascinated by the colorplay of its interior: the large mirror on the wall that reflected the tile floor and the oak tables. In fact, I was forced to take a series of pictures that made the waiters look curious because I stood on a chair and held the camera as high as I could.

Photography. Great minds have reflected on this subject. I feel a bit awkward now, like I don’t have a clue. What can I say? Capturing life in a still image. Conservation of a drifting presence, reproduction of the continuum in dead images, holding up the inevitable in a photographical composition, capturing our desire in a reflection that goes beyond language, creating a body of shadow and light, transposing movement into the realm of the pure mind, blah blah. I advise myself, on behalf of you, to re-read some books about the subject.

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