Un Fashion Film en colaboración con @cultotres
Dir. Alex Lara
Prod. Daniel Castro
AP. Cynthia Rodriguez
Maquillaje y peinado Andrea Herrera
Talento: Alexa Silva Humada y Daniel Castro
Gracias a Ómerta Café
EN UN PARPADEO ELLA SE TORNA FUERTE.
DIRECTOR: ALEX LARA
FOTOGRAFÍA: AMAIRANI L.G.
ACTRIZ: TIARA ISLAS
ASIST: ISAAC BROWN
A visualisation of my favourite poem.
I can feel them stream out of my fingers with such freedom in the current days.
So far, the days seem distant somehow when my keys were unable to utter the nonsense you now read.
Still, the days when the letters and stories I wrote to that someone feel now lost on those conversations I erased. And that's not counting the many letters I wrote in my mind, but never put down.
This orange light is messing with my mind, it elates me and gives me illusions. I sit here noting the nuances that come with my favourite scenes of love. The final kiss seems to be the best part. I now lay here thinking I know this intimately... I don’t.
What I know too well is how to compose a scene, the mess in my mind does nothing to its basics. It is my pen the one with might, only through it my ideas are grand. There’s beauty, I know it, I felt it so that I can paint it from memory.
I keep wanting for things to be a certain way, but then they bloom. I’m confused, I think what I make is the way I want it to be, but they’re even more than that.
I can feel in a way I thought I had lost, with my imagination in peak fluorescence.
The words of new scenes dripping of my mouth, but they might as well be doing it out of my eyes... or maybe it’s the rain – But there are no clouds.
I can feel the meaning of things rapidly changing,
the shapes are now becoming,
becoming new,
turning grand.
The ides are becoming more significant every time they come around,
Can you tell?
The objects that turn new when you touch.
The things from far away that in an instant get close,
are they what you asked for?
was I who asked for them?
I don’t know,
perhaps I forgot.
I might’ve been looking for answers,
And then again I really didn’t want them.
All of a sudden I can feel everything,
the essence of,
the everything of,
I can feel it overtaking me,
should I let it?
I just want to listen to the songs,
but their meanings are also changing.
And the thing I thought was a desert is, in fact, a beach,
And the forest I thought barren, was full of life within.
It feels different,
the trumpets sing about it,
they say more than I can.
I should play my instrument too,
the one I am meant to speak into.
It is so silly, there’s all this fucking distress.
It is so silly, all I can think about is madness,
It is so silly, I am stuck in strange repetitions.
It is so silly, is it not? If so... why am I not laughing?
Why, why, why.
There’s a sense of tiredness that comes with that simple word,
Why?
I find no reason for such mindless interrogations.
Then?
I should find an edge where I can hold on,
Perhaps not for much, but just long enough for me to stand up.
Someone will reach out,
It won’t matter, my hand was already held out.
That’s how people dance, holding each other tight,
That’s why people still dance,
Because of all the madness around.
It is so silly, there is all this dancing.
