The Stalker, the Scientist, and the Writer go to the Zone, in search of a place where their truest dreams are coming true. And you’re asking: what are our truest dreams? Are we really all the altruists and the saints we think we are, or are we corrupt souls, hiding under covers of a calling like – a poet, a scientist… The Zone exposes our true selves because of how wild and unpredictable it is. And we can’t handle to look into that mirror.
Your mother sitting in front of the porch, smoking a cigarette, waiting for her husband. A doctor approaches, a house burns, the milk gets spilled. When did all of this happen? Sometime, but in the memory of a person laying on his deathbed all those moments, all these pieces of mosaic become one single – the definition of who he is. That’s how the life has been, for better or for worse, and how it will always be. And you’re asking: what does it mean to exist?
A soldier boy too tough for his age, with vendetta in his heart too early, nightmares too dark. You’re asking: what is the end of innocence when the world is spoiled. Innocence stays only a dream within a dream of running on the beach, apples on the road… and the dreams always end in violent fall too.
A man who hears the lesson of life. You ask – but what does it take to learn this lesson?
A man goes to space, to discover the unknown. You ask – why do we destroy what we cannot know? Perhaps for the same reason why the Zone is forbidden, because we can’t tame it. The wildness that we can’t tame and control, we destroy because we haven’t yet learned how to appreciate. That is, to love.
Nostalgia. A poet finds a piece of his country and feels rejoiced, wants to delve in. He finds his wife’s image in an Italian woman, and begins desiring her. You ask – do that which our soul loves find it in anyplace and anytime, in different shapes and different forms?
And finally a man sets a family house on fire. You ask – what does it take to begin again, to burn it all and start afresh? For the cycle to begin again, with the Word coming from a mouth of a child.
Thank you for asking. Thank you for answering sometimes too.
I am happy you were born. I hope to keep hearing you, and that sometime I’ll understand enough to be able to hear myself as well.