The first impression you will get if you come into my bedroom, will be that the owner is not an urban vampire whose only aspiration is to see life through dark glasses. Everything inside is light, from the walls, painted in a pale lilac colour, to the window, iron beds and doors that are white, maybe as a reflection of myself. I’m crystal clear like a drop of water on a mirror in both every action and towards the people I know. After a deeper observation of the elements, messily disposed of in the room, as if something had interrupted me as I was moving in, you’d probably be lead to the conclusion that The Theory of Chaos was not about The Universe but about this small and cosy den. There is nothing wrong with chaos as long it’s controlled. Chaos is the finest form of creativity and it’s really creative to combine within a reduced space like a wooden desk surface, varied stuff such as batteries, a comb, a red candle, headphones, wires of different lengths and colours, books, a lamp and an impaired earring that lost its better half in a battle against a domestic hurricane. I wouldn’t dare you to open the drawers of the desk, chaos would explode under your nose like a supernova in a remote galaxy and would kill you in quick and blinding flash. Don’t look under my bed either if you are scared of strange beings. You’d probably hear a creepy breath coming from there, as if an alien were secretly giving birth. But don’t worry, it’s just a dog that has been brought up like a child and dreams, her head on a shoe, of a woman who feeds her chicken soup with a spoon. It’s a pleasant bedroom, though.
No comments:
Post a Comment