Emry’s

. I did go to Rome

.Its the one place i trully want you to visit

.it is a city. a country. a symbol of the things many i will later reveal. to myself…

occasional phoebe-mirror conversations

.Am still pretty shook over Filippo’s  death. Too sudden

.Am still trying to shake off these flash images of the two people i spoke with yesterday, in Rome.

I couldnt help but continually play back into their lives, him and her-separately, fifteen years ago.

 hiding in the mashes, listening to the silence, speaking in whispers, beseeching protection from a God their parents’ parents had only learned of, thanks to the Roman Catholic Priests:

“he will build a wall around you, like one around the Vatican City, protect you from your neighbour, whom the devil’s grow’d into a torturous and murderous inhuman…”, I doubt these were the teachings…am only giving details of my mental talking pictures.

I saw her, begging for the life of her three children to be spared. begging for hers to be taken instead.

….They are only children. they know no evil. they bring you no harm. Here, have me. Cut me into a thousand many pieces, slash me like the cockroach you say I am. Not those three little ones..

          at the point, they killed her husband. And she, instructed to live on in trauma reliving only  that part of her past. Her life story was restructured then to forever open with the events of April 1994

– But these details are only as I saw them in my head. 

But I couldnt really, i cant see her details, playback his life. I fail to imagine how he lost two of his right hand fingures and a quarter of the third. My pictures do not clearly show how his left arm dropped from where it now isnt. They dont tell what memories the skin on his face hold…..or when he asks me, to see for him, a something a metre away, because his eyes and sight, 15years later, dont do what they used to 15 years before…. I cant exactly, play back, with sounds, and smells, and movements, and language,

did they dream. could they hope, was it obscene and sinful, during this time, to hold a happy thought. Even to think it and not do it…What was it like…Is it important. Should my picture be clearer, more in focus…or is it okay, to let it haze, to distort the composition in the frame,  to only take fragments of discolour and and fade the audio to some sort of dizzying tune..

Should we care of what talking pictures say. do we need to pass the tissue filled box to a crying statue? 15 years today later.  

15years, in HUMAN years… is  child. cant vote. cant drive, consume alcohol, have sex, pay taxes, walk about without a chaperon…or Say, AM OVER IT Already. Stop fussing.

                                      04. 07.1994

                                15.100.800000.

                         Numbers Grow.

. I sat a table, for dinner with a very special group of people… every one at this event was pretty special actually. Things like these, celebrate the fact  that life does not stop just because a crazy sick person, wills it to. that we do not die by a farm tool massacre. that one crazy sick human being does not and should not mean that the human race is gone mental… things like these do invite very special people to dinner. I was at a table with Lance Henson.I asked him to be my teacher. I want learn from him…even for another one and a half hours.

.I saw the Pope today. Randomly. I will say it like it felt at the moment: ‘I bumped into him’, he said hello Kid, and I stopped to greet him properly, but as if casually; hello sir.

 Honestly, all intended to see was the front of the Vatican city. The part thats shown on TV. I didnt think that the only day i decide to do this would be the same day Pope Benedict XVI. Would be making one of his rare appearances. Despite  everything i hold and love to believe in, it is pretty awesome to be in the presence of the guy… He’s been the King of the world a huge chunk of the world, for a really long time now

I watched him speak, reading type from a sheet of paper. a new one for each language. He reads Spanish beautifully. I immediately lusted after the beautiful priest that stood to read something in english…i call what he read something because i couldn’t get passed my sinful desires in such a holly space… Well. I am I

Finally. Rome is the first Italian City or Country (yes italian country), where the shops do not sell, or at least the shop windows do not have sexy clothes. Italy sells sex fashion. But In Rome. it is conservative, proper, normal- it could be anywhere else in the world. and that was very prominent for me… Maniquines with no nipples. flowerly dresses. thickly threaded cloth material

But then again, it could be that i have lived in the north way too long

 

Ps: Its three a,m

I guess its appropriate for me to try and sleep now

ciao.

phoebe des mutetsi

 

xxx: sorry about the typos. it is too late in the night to think in spell-check

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8 Comments Add yours

  1. Sleek says:

    This whispers a language only the heart can understand…Deep. sad. moving

  2. The Emrys says:

    this, m’lady, has excited a range of emotions inside of me.

    just this morning i was talking to someone from over there and she was telling me how the mood has been sombre around her village this week. her family were victims.

    i cannot begin to imagine what kinda week you have had,what, with this and then fillipo.aah. how are you my dear?

  3. DoomsDay says:

    I’ll have to read this again

  4. lulu says:

    aww this is sad
    but i would like to go to rome too

  5. lulu says:

    i should shop in rome

  6. phoebe says:

    @Lulu; Go to Rome, I highly recommend…take long night walks…But don’t shop in Rome, dont do it.

    Go to Milan. Shop in Milan…

    Then go into Florence and eat there….

    finally, Come to venice and sit for a chat with me

    see, ive given you your itinerary! – people get paid for this sheet

  7. Scotchie says:

    why aren’t you being paid to write these things?

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