Manic Owl || Camera Roll Posts
Theaters, auditoriums, concert halls: ghostly areas before and after a performance. Unplaces, void of meaning, useless corpses lost in permanent downtimes. Sleeping beauties enveloped in wood, velvet and concrete. Cavities. Seashells where the sound of the waves keeps quiet.
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The strange notion of “home”: most of your life confined in a place you don’t feel you can ever belong to, waiting day after day to break free from the eternal murkiness of the soul; then potentially free and away from it all, and still feeling like the wanderer of old myths, just without the romance and the chimeral illusion of freedom in its purest form. Homes are sad fabrications of the mind, but we keep on creating one after the other just in the hope we can one day escape.
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