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January – the month of 31 Mondays!

January 1, 2015 - mirrormirror -

on January 28 in 1979 Brenda Ann Spencer went on a killing spree in San Diego and explained to the cops it was because she didnt like Mondays. Bob Geldof turned this statement into a hit song and still some people struggle with the beginning of the week or they live in it – welcome to the world of thirty one Mondays.

there are moments when the reality is too sad to be captured in a photograph, when something seen evokes severe feelings of anxiousness and depression touching you very deep. they shout: stop! and your mind reacts with the attempt of hiding in itself leaving a blurry image of what you thought of to be very clear – a life in a box, determined to be perpetual, boring until death.

the only difference between you and your neighbour is the size of the swimming pool in the backyard. don’t go too big or you might spill some water on the next-in-line residents barbecue.

in this case residence is evidence – for another misleading path in ‘society’.

leaving and coming back on this paths to the big city I passed endless desserts of uniformed (north) american dreams, trying to create an artificial oasis, but irresistible transforming space into a suburbian nightmare:

not a photograph taken from my inner eye:

and not the ‘autobahn’ but highway X in earshot to reassure that a high speed connection is available when needed – only faster goes the internet – an important information on the sheet for potential new house owners. everything is mandatory, everything is available.
the off ramp leads to a brand(ed) new neighbourhood, but before home

stop by the hyper-hyper-super-duper-market, get yourself a coffee at Tim Hortons and fuel up the car at Canadian Tire to free some time next morning when you’re late for work.

we reach street number 999666, time for an overview of squares and rectangles representing a poor show of geometry on which houses are being built to illustrate the fortune of half a centuries people from tomorrow on when they move in.

wooden skeletons surrounded by paved veins and lonely street lights awaiting the future cars to stop and go and gloomy lanterns awaiting to spark the future kids inspiration and their play and fall until they go . . . home:

dozens often hundreds of houses popping out of nowhere like mushrooms, lining up next to each other on extensive, flat fields which were the former squares and rectangles.

somebody hands over a key and the family moves in to set up rooms and make beds for another generation caught in hopeless dreams of a ‘better’ future and forced success you never had,

too bad today’s not Monday!

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