So it all begins – as any journey should, and as most important things in life do – with a massive hangover. I grow older but no wiser, or else I would have by now stopped randomnly mixing wine, beer and spirits, not necessarily in this order. And just to make things better, I just ordered some champagne to toast my trip. I am going to Russia after all.
On board of my flight to St. Petersburg, last glance at my cellphone before I switch it off. Nothing. Of course. The phone will hopefully not work in Russia, and it will be for the better. Clean start. Not that there has ever been anything to end in the first place. Oh well, there’s another thing that does not improve with age, and it really should: not just acting against my better judgement, but completely ignoring it. I should have known better. Well, I did know better, I just chose to disregard any kind of sensible behaviour. So here I am, contemplating what I like to call my motto: better to regret things I have done than things I could have done and haven’t. Am I still convinced about this? It comes with a price, but yes, I guess I am. Better stop moaning then.
How does one interpret silence? Martin Scorsese dedicated over 3 hours of his latest film to this topic. When one’s actions, hopes, or just a wish to part ways in a civilized manner receive no reaction, how does one deal with the disappointment? For Scorsese, this is the mistery of faith. The lack of reply (to the leading character’s prayers in his case) will always have to be the balanced by believing that we mattered, that our actions, feelings, thoughts were not completely useless, that somewhere someone saw, and maybe even cared and appreciated, but for some reason chose to deny us any kind of ackowledgement. And this is me being kind of positive. The negative part of me is going like: Silence is exactly what it is: nothing. And that’s all there’s ever been, possibly even all I’ve ever meant. In that case, the joke is gonna have to be on me.
Club Silencio was the allegory of hell in David Lynch’s Mulholland Drive. How appropriate. The excruciating pain of silence. And then again maybe silence is all that has ever been expected from me. What I am not reminded of does not bother me. The luxury of ignorance.
Let me be the Kindly One.
Title: Quote from “Ragazzo solo, ragazza sola“, David Bowie’s attempt to conquer the italian market by recording “Space Oddity” in italian. “Tell me, lonely girl, where are you off to? Why so much pain?”