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365

One year since last post and take off the brakes division. This design is more "me" in these 365 days, all the rest you can find it here .

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... On the road again

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Douz

December 31
'09 8:00 AM

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Hafed

30 December'09.

south.
We stopped a little 'something to eat before sunset, we know Hafed and his friend who sells meat along the street.




... smell of fire. Eat.





's night when we meet the desert.

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In cabin

January 3, 2010, 4:25 pm






18mm from our apartment seems spacious ...

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slips ...

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toser



car along a road in the middle of nowhere, mixed in among the citations of "Brave New World" by Aldous Huxley, the crisis of positivism and technologies and bla bla bla, We came to mind a question that music has the desert?
Then it occurred to us to put together the hot desert sun and sand with the northern, cold, storms white. Sigur Ros are the
.
Council: Heima to see the trailer below.


A
things done, we have found an image identical to that in the trailer opening.
Magic ...

mow, imaginary city named after and misunderstanding on behalf of one of the discussions in Tozeur organization, constantly running away from our trip. During the day, several times we tried to get closer, but we ended Going north to leave this city without visiting it, relegated to the world of dream, a kind of Mount Analogue of our expedition. Without a conscious stance, we have left untouched the territory of this dream city from the beginning does not exist. Then we left them in the desert 'to evoke the future attractiveness of the same voltage that has brought us there. Did not mean to go then go mow mow. What is at first seemed like a lack a target failure, has run 'instead proved the perfect end of the journey. I know that for me everything in life is tension between two points and magnetic balance. Toser is our electrostatic node in the desert, which binds us to Africa, where they all go.
continues here.

Assembly : Roberto Lombardi (NONMELOSPIEGO VIDEO PRODUCTIONS)
Camera unpremeditated to a mobile phone.
Photo: IoManuele
appear: Massimo, Francesco , Manuela, Abdallah, Nabil, other of which unfortunately can not remember the name.

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-"... Italy? "

- "Yes, yes."
- "Yes .. Italy."
- "Yes"

- "Ah ... Italy. Yes"

Brent Everet Corrigan

and Nabil Fatih

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Africa is the land of the senses.

existence is not built.

Africa will be tasted without knowing it. Without asking. Africa is in the mouth before even realizing it. And you feel it slip inside.

When the bridge number 8, during docking maneuvers Palace of Zeus, is saw soar far above the roofs of the first minaret, sharp and vertical, the wind already knew of earth, sand, deep.

closed my eyes and sniffed deeply. I already knew everything. Without knowing how. But I already knew everything.

lips slid the primordial tastes.

intense.

vibrant.

engaging.

is obvious something like our arrival in Tunis.

landed with him in a very dynamic by Westerners curious that gradually slopes down to a "AFRICIZZAZIONE" of times, ways and terms that we totally robbed.

was certainly the view of the sea from the beach of La Goulette, who spoke slow and mysterious, or perhaps your first sip the local drink, green tea with mint leaves, or find a coin designs by unknown and exchanged without knowing the true value and was amazed, or perhaps the gathering of people on the street corners in small groups of 4 or 5 people. Their talk. Their story. To take the time for dialogue.

look at each other put us in a position to find and lose at the same time to find points of reference around which did not exist but really felt in the stomach.

Travel is moving towards. We had the physical targets, terrain and to want to comply, not to suffer, and get to go south in the desert.

The trip is in going wide-eyed, nose on the car window, fingers touching things.

Multisensory.

The path to the south and slid inexorably, reaching places and people that you expect similar everywhere, but find different each time.

is not strange.

But I was surprised though.

The thing that fascinated me during the transfer from Tunis to Douz was the sudden appearance of small villages along the road.

road maps in hand remains dry and that showed no microinsediamenti city where real estate and instead survived overwhelming traditions and customs.

Come swept into a vortex where you feel heard simultaneously revolutionary innovator and contaminated land.

The simplicity of the small things, small things, small words, it leaves you breathless.

And your size becomes small western, impalpable, poor.

What's missing? Missing all answer.

But the carousel head around not missing anything.

's everything enough.

And there is the strongest.

Who gives you your address as a bus stop, who to a library, where to send the photos immediately.

Who says you need and call me if you leave your phone number, and you do not even know who he is, but you just smile. Who do you serve at the table like a king even though you are in a room of 200 square meters with two neon and chairs and tables are all different.

Because you are always welcome.

Why do you make a person feel.

The south joined him in the evening. And you feel that is south of the cracking of the sand between your teeth, from the stars, the few street lights, the lights low short, low lights everywhere. From a strange heat in the cool evening biting, you hear come from the streets, slip on the walls, and take the eyes. But the truth is that the heat, I realize only now coming out of the darkness, the desert night.

smelled of silence.

jasmine.

moon.

Southern upsets you in welcoming you reserve at home, in the sand as fine as flour or as hard as asphalt, in the animal market at the dawn of the palms, in the eyes of children who are looking for you while running, which inside when you hear them fix the damn machine Photographic images of greedy.

not want to talk about the desert where stands the night of last year.

do not want to do, because I know that I could not do as I wish, as I heard.

I only remember a phrase that came in the hushed night: "Look around, it seems a nativity scene."

It made her smile. Taste. Very.

And we have granted, before falling asleep under a moon toothpaste that whitens all things, to give a last look around, alone, and understand how much greatness around us, how much magic and electricity was present in the surrounding space.

It was all for us.

Li, only to eat and be eaten.

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There was one evening, when by chance, we meet to discuss about why not to take a trip together. What ever you want, and never realized before. Where? There was suggested to Africa, I'm not here to explain how and why, but the proposal it seemed at that time very attractive and full of meanings. There followed days and weeks when you smile, swinging with conviction, to the realization of this dream. At first there was to know who wanted to be involved in this project. It was easy. We were just three. Secondly ways, times and terms. A bit 'more complex and elaborate this stage, but saw so fast that we were at 3 am on December 28th, dreamy and freezing, directed by one of the port of Salerno, where we'd boarded Tunisia.

The city is postcard view from the sea and love. The sea saw from sea water but no longer seems folded paper. The Zeus Palace moves slowly but precisely, drawing space that receives it with harmonic and graceful signs.

A ship is a ship, especially in this kind of treatment, and in this time of year.

A ship becomes hope, dream, light, perspective, innovation, motor, pleasure, speed.

Hold.

There lives meetings, not people.

We exchange thoughts and existence, reality and dream.

number 5 at the bridge, sheltered under the cover of the outdoor bar, languages, smells, colors, leather come together in one direction through different routes and distant from each other, united by a single invisible point Co., humanity.

Live the day then at night, then again on the day.

glances Crossings.

And when you least expect it, the bridge number 8 becomes the place where the prospect of an unknown world known and shows the natural beauty and simplicity.

Earth.

Tunisia.

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The trip is architecture. Just as I believe the opposite is also true. Terms extrinsic meaning well separated from each other, but which is at her lap, and hidden buttons, the same expectations, the same dreams, similar outlook, the same process to build, the same reality.

The journey that I undertook to collect if both the terms that I described above.

I loro valori Terreni.

concettuale La stessa magic.

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A man who cultivates his garden, as Voltaire wished.
He who is grateful for the existence of music.
who takes pleasure in an etymology.
Two employees at a cafe in the South play a silent game of chess.
The potter, contemplating a color and shape.
The typographer who sets this page well, you may not like.
A woman and a man who read tercets of a certain song. He who strokes
a sleeping animal.
He who justifies, or wishes wrong they have done.
He who is grateful for the existence of Stevenson.
He who prefers others to be right.
These people, unaware, are saving the world. Jorge Luis Borges

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- "Dov'è Manuele?"

- "... Secondo you?"

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We returned from the desert on Jan. 1. It was about 12:30 in the morning. Tired. Silent. Distant neighbors. And we sat on a sidewalk. Near us was a large sign decorated with tiles, which were scenes from popular, indicated that we had just come out or we were just coming in the desert. And we had just passed through the back door in or out, do not know.

In the afternoon, after trading at Douz, in a sunny courtyard surrounded by children and the elderly, then the carpet in a room and looking through the path of return to the north, greetings, pictures, thoughts, kindness, sense deep respect, hospitality, we headed to Gabes, Tunis stopover before reaching the next day.

We stopped at a Kettani, for a stop in front of the sea, a green tea, a Frico them and then the glass of tea I'll take you and bring it to Walking on the beach with you and that is a pleasure for the few.

The beach was green that day. Green, yes, but most of the mint. The withdrawal of the oil left in the sun shining with emerald algae in the eye. The sea was a sea bottom of the sea as the sea itself.

I walked with me and my tea. Under a thrilling sun, dry, lively.

I walked around for a quarter, and returned to the car. As I climbed on my

, Francis looked at me, nodded his head, ricambai, a smile that was not a smile but a dialogue of hours and days, we got in the car, as if he already knew everything.

He knows my nostalgia for Africa, if we may so call it.

known him since he left Kenya for about three years ago turned over and went back as a sock, as they say in my part.

I say ill of Africa, but the concept of in-and-out that I mentioned before, the beginning of this paper.

Yeah, inside and out.

Who's in, who's out, where is where the inside and outside.

Questions that constantly surround me with thoughts like scarves around the neck under the sun every time I go down to the South.

The day I said, we leave for the safari, we go to see the animals, I was excited. But not fully aware of what it meant after that.

day I realized then that would simply say, go inside.

Inside what? Inside

stop. This was what I felt. I felt the skin. The smells. The colors. Space. The size of everything. INSIDE everything happens according to specific rules and unwritten by millions of years.

I was at home. O my true home. Still do not know. Among the animals. Plants. The natural cycles. In a world existing and unbuilt.

And feel a strong sense of inside them. Away. Presence. Truth. No longer the center of anything. But to be just. And move. And do. Li

everything moves and you can not do anything to stop it. Or you should not do anything to contaminate it. Why is it all so perfect.

You just so, stands alone.

're inside, inside really.

And that day I was in the desert, yes, just like that.

And heard everything loud.

The silence is deafening at night.

you burn.

Under the sky the stars you look cold.

Dawn will freeze the blood.

Somewhere someone or something knows you're there.

I remember January 1, at approximately 12:30 am, when we were sitting on a sidewalk outside DOUZ, and close to us motorbikes and camels were woven between asphalt and sand, the sky no longer touched the ground anywhere but glided over the rooftops to search for a point of contact.

We were sitting at the border.

the border of an inside and an out that you eat the objective manifestation of the senses and spit you feel confused by all the worlds.

Africa.

He feels that's all.

When you are there you feel it, feel it really strong.

And you're everywhere and nowhere.

In-and-out.

I'm glad to have been in-and-out with them.

.