April '08 Reconciliations. With Chile. With myself.

Reconciliations. With Chile. With myself.

And that’s the picture I fix in my eye’s camera. Pink silhouetted mountains against the pale blue sky, frayed with pink as the smog distorts where the mountains and the sky meet.
Above it all the new moon- light and pure and large.
A flock of birds crosses the sky and the purpley-pink Mountains could be a Japanese watercolour but for the ugly tower blocks in the foreground and the incessant row of crap reggaton behind me and Santiago’s traffic below.

To round it off in true Chilean style street dogs sleep before me and couples canoodle behind. And when one says that Chilean couples canoodle, one means that they are self-absorbed in a public dry-humping display that leaves very little to the imagination. Well… it probably adds much to their imagination as most Chileans live with their parents until they marry.

A small yet significant spot in the picture, Christ stands with his arms wide over the Cattolica building, benignly presiding over the traffic cacophony below. The ever present yet oft forgotten conductor of the dominant strand of Santiago’s symphony.

One feels that the Virgin Mary is top dog (should that be bitch?) as far as conductorship of this city goes. She resides above the Cerro San Cristobal, saintly skirts elevated form the infernal symphony raging below.

Noise. I feel persecuted by it. It is my wakeup call and bedtime lullaby, eternal companion to my sandman and unwanted houseguest to my days.
I dream of escaping to the sea, just to leave the city’s cries far behind.
Earplugs are to become my best friends as I reach all-time lows of flinching every time a bus goes by.
I’m told I’ll get used to it, yet I fell this rather means it will become an assimilated annoyance- an extra knot in my over knotted shoulders along with everything else.

The noise on the living room with the balcony doors open seems to have a physical presence.- like someone attempting to noisingly hoover the insides of your mind. With a blunt hoover.

The martime mountain range is a dusky grey against the red and orange sky.
The colours of sundown claiming and painting the ugly lines of the city, bouncing off the mirroired skyscrapers, they day’s final bow framed by velvety red curtains with gold tassles.
Santiago is essentially an ulgy city with an infinite number of hidden gems and beautiful moments. Sundown is one of these as

To be Cont..