17 April 2016

Scars


«He also failed. He contemplated the ruins of his failures, but always found the strength to look ahead to what was yet to come.» 
                                                 By Raquel R. in Short Story number 13

«There is something in the human spirit that will survive and prevail, there is a tiny and brilliant light burning in the heart of man that will not go out no matter how dark the world becomes.» 
                                                                                                   Leo Tolstoy  

  

28 December 2015

Fragments


«Small fragments of his life began to flash before him like an old black and white movie. Except that, in this movie he was the leading actor. The memories ran gently like a stream in the spring and overflew his heart with joy and tenderness. He lived his life to the fullest, fought every war and ran every race.»   
                                                 By Raquel R. in Short Story number 13

«We die containing a richness of lovers and tribes, tastes we have swallowed, bodies we have plunged into and swum up as if rivers of wisdom, characters we have climbed into as if trees, fears we have hidden in as if caves. I wish for all this to be marked on by body when I am dead. I believe in such cartography - to be marked by nature, not just to label ourselves on a map like the names of rich men and women on buildings. We are communal histories, communal books. We are not owned or monogamous in our taste or experience.» 
                                                                                         Michael Ondaatje 


       
                                          Sum from Studiocanoe on Vimeo.

21 December 2015

The same eyes


«He could no longer recognize himself. He saw an old man, whose body had given up, lying in bed. But one thing still remained the same, though. He had the same expression in his eyes, he had seen in old photos of when he was just a child.» 
                                                  By Raquel R. in Short Story number 13

«A man sets out to draw the world. As the years go by, he peoples a space with images of provinces, kingdoms, mountains, bays, ships, islands, fishes, rooms, instruments, stars, horses, and individuals. A short time before he dies, he discovers that the patient labyrinth of lines traces the lineaments of his own face.» 
                                                                                      Jorge Luís Borges 


Photo Tom Hussey

5 October 2015

Short Story number 13

Short Story number 13: Inspired by the song «Races» by Glen Hansard from the solo album Rhythm and Repose





      He slowly opened his eyes. His head was facing the window. As he gradually adjusted his eyes to the luminosity of the room he was able to clearly distinguish the blue skies out there. He turned his head around. He saw himself reflected in the mirror on the wall. He could no longer recognize himself. He saw an old man, whose body had given up, lying in bed. But one thing still remained the same, though. He had the same expression in his eyes, he had seen in old photos of when he was just a child.
He turned his head again to the window. It was the only connection to the world outside, of which, he once was part of. He felt that the end was near. Small fragments of his life began to flash before him like an old black and white movie. Except that, in this movie he was the leading actor. The memories ran gently like a stream in the spring and overflew his heart with joy and tenderness. He lived his life to the fullest, fought every war and ran every race. Never denied to fight for his dreams, although, sometimes he doubted himself and allowed weaknesses paralyze him. He also failed. He contemplated the ruins of his failures, but always found the strength to look ahead to what was yet to come.
That strength he possessed to overcome all the hurdles in live came from the absolute knowledge that the most important things in live are not visible. They can only be felt. And for that reason he always found within his heart the meaning of live.
He closed his eyes, and in the profound silence of his bedroom, he clearly heard the beating of his heart. Yes, it was there, that he stored and concentrated his most precious possession: love. In every inch of the tired and old muscle was imprinted an intricate web of feelings that connected him to those he ever loved and were once part of his life. Because of them he knew that live did not just pass by him. He lived it well.
He knew that even the stars stop shinning and die. But he also knew, that its light would endure forever, as it travels the universe for years to come, leaving behind a trace of immortality.
He felt peace inside him and let himself go. 

By Raquel R.

20 July 2015

Lifeline


«To catch her of guard was the best way to throw her a lifeline that would pull her back to him and away from the dark places that sometimes lured her.» 
                                                 By Raquel R. in Short Story number 12

«We die to each other daily. What we know of other people is only our memory of the moments during which we knew them. And they have changed since then. To pretend that they and we are the same is a useful and convenient social convention which must sometimes be broken. We must also remember that at every meeting we are meeting a stranger.» 
                                                                                                        T.S.Eliot 



Photos by Raquel R.

24 June 2015

Unsaid


«Ultimately, throughout the course of their relationship, they both became specialists in each other’s non-verbal language, which they carefully learned to interpret, to the point of consider it to be much more assertive and reliable, in conveying a message, than, actually, words.» 
                                                 By Raquel R. in Short Story number 12

«You're so calm and quiet, you never say. But there are things inside you. I see them sometimes, hiding in your eyes.» 
                                                                                           Tracy Chevalier 



       
                                                HEAD OVER HEELS from Timothy Reckart on Vimeo.

25 May 2015

Leave the world behind you


«He could not remember of a better way to pull oneself together and to restore one’s faith in life, than to indulge one’s sense of freedom by having an open road right in front of us, along with the illusory sensation of leaving everything behind.» 
                                                 By Raquel R. in Short Story number 12 

«People often ask me questions that I cannot very well answer in words, and it makes me sad to think they are unable to hear the voice of my silence.» 
                                                                                            Inayat H. Khan 



15 April 2015

Quest


«So, every time he felt on the verge of being swept away by anxiety and his thoughts were dangerously becoming an incoherent mush, he would get on his car and drive without a specific destination.» 
                                                  By Raquel R. in Short Story number 12

«I came to a point where I needed solitude and just stop the machine of ‘thinking’ and ‘enjoying’ what they call ‘living’, I just wanted to lie in the grass and look at the clouds.» 
                                                                                              Jack Kerouac 



       
                                    a story for tomorrow. from gnarly bay on Vimeo.

7 April 2015

Quietude


«Having confirmed her suspicions she directed again her attention to what was happening outside. This was one of the typical diverting maneuvers, that were part of a complex strategy, created and refined by her, in order to avoid or try to postpone, for as long as she could, the inevitability of having to deal with every kind of painful situations that came her way.» 
                                                 By Raquel R. in Short Story number 12

«The body shuts down when it has too much to bear; goes its own way quietly inside, waiting for a better time, leaving you numb and half alive.» 
                                                                                    Jeanette Winterson 


Image Raquel R.

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