Perhaps my life is nothing but an image of this kind; perhaps I am doomed to retrace my steps under the illusion that I am exploring, doomed to try and learn what I should simply recognize, learning a mere fraction of what I have forgotten.
Here starts my journal , that text that is printed as a memory of a journey ,
a journey to a territoire which I discovered and that travels with me for ever.
El Barrio Chino , in Barcelona is a place where my heart lives , my whole
body is el Xino.
The place where I went so low and where I found my redemption.
The place where I betray and was betrayed, where I found the ghosts
who talked to me and trough out me.....
What time is now?
I don't know, it feels like there is no more time out there, now or yesterday
are melting with each other.
Long ago predates today and never wake up to a new morning but just
a looping old new day again.
The souls that posses me are taking me with them to precise stages and
situations they guide me and show me so that my eyes became yours
El barrio Xino is a whole world and even if the whole time pass by it
never a place had more of the same , repeating its geographic speciality
A labyrinth , a container of lives and experiences bordering the lowest,
the outcast , the free for all , the villains , the whores, the addicts ...
One day of spring 2182, I gravitated towards El Xino, and I will just drift
getting lost and found on its dark humid streets.
Old, very old buildings, intense smells of acid urine residuals ,putrified rubbish,
fried oil and some scent of flowers that I could not really place or see but where
floating like next to the sea salt humid air beaten up by the flying doves.
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