spanish stories

* Not perfect; but beautiful
My soul needs frames which are broken at a certain point, something where your eyes starts stopping by, so it’s in Granada, in Albaicín, where my heart suddenly vibrates again. When suddenly I see stories among details. And thus, dearest Lady Alhambra, I’m sorry that I didn’t take hundreds of pictures of you but of those appearing in l’ombre.

*The 3 Marilyns
Spain must have something with this 1950ies sex-symbol. Once she’s part of a certain free-time-activity, then someone’s slut, and sometimes MM is simply decoration among craziness.
#Cadiz, Granada

*Los 4:20?
I’m too slow, and too lazy, and so your tags don’t find their way on my camera. But in the minutes from Toledo to Madrid, they set imaginery free. Is 4 for a game once lost, and 20 for the winners? And did you use a bike, or a motorcyle, to catch the distance betwwb your explorations? And anyway, are you one person or part of the group “Los 4:20?”?
#On the road

*El Greco
Our pictures, they will resemble, as I can see that we have similar eyes for angles, light and position. We make our way through the narrow streets. Enter the church (together) within seconds. But then it’s El Greco who separates us. When I leave the church, you’re still inside. And nowhere to be found again. In these little narrow streets of this mediaval town.

The music erases but the feeling is still there. And it will hold on, at least for this night.

This entry was posted in A night - somewhere, some time. Bookmark the permalink.

2 Responses to spanish stories

  1. D! says:

    Da warst du!!!!

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