Pure semantics.

A bunch of girls and boys laughing over something inconsequential, scrambled over some nondescript stairs. Slow motion, fade to black and white freeze frame. Dissolve to a raindrop sliding down the back of her neck, he hesitates and the moment passes. Slow motion, fade to …

How many times haven’t we seen it? Feel something oddly familiar, that it seems to deserve the label – trite. Faces change, scenes are different, yet the feeling never ceases to linger, in the least making it’s presence felt. Whether we believe it, try and tweak our own memories to suit the frames, eulogize it, rationalize it or cynically thwart it (Oh! the intelligentsia…), in the end it’s relating to or negating the basic identification process every video strives for. Too simple??

Life isn’t a soft sepia audio-visual. We know. We know why. We name it escapism, then we analyse it, then crucify it, then resurrect it, even try to give it a face-lift, and then to some extent ( bear with me) apotheosize it. It’s weird but I feel it’s all pre-ordained, every event. That there might be a record, a log book, or worse, a blue print according to which ‘life’ goes on. Or tries it’s best to resemble. Do I really believe that? I don’t think so. No.That would mean insulting ‘intelligence’ and every other analytical ability that gives humankind it’s edge, that leverage, the spine for all it’s perpetrations.

But most of all, it would mean I no longer believe in honesty. That I don’t or can’t trust myself. No, I cannot reduce it to such prosaicness.

Is this my plain ol’ naivety?
“I cross the street, I have a dream…
I believe in angel, something good in every thing I see…”