(or the page-worth of notes I took before going to see the play..)
What was the last time I've been writing?
Bah, months ago. I find myself in the ADC bar with my snotty nose ready run after a dream. Alone. And that dream is not mine anymore.
Is this a jump in the past? An attempt of resurrecting the dream?
I'd rather say I'm here for cultural reasons, for Shakespeare. Not that I believe in this but it comes as a consolation in this crazy life. I've been here for less than a week and I already feel the lack of sleep, I'll pay for my late nights. But not now. Now I'm busy running, doing, dreaming, hoping.. and god knows what else.
It has been months since I last asked myself who I am and in what I believe.
Do I still believe in something?
I believe in Hamlet.
In beauty. In the immense poetry of a forgotten language; in the joy of understanding, in only a word out of a thousand. I believe in that visage. No, not in THAT visage, I believe in recognizing a visage unknown as it was familiar because I've been hoping in it. I believe in placing my hopes in hope, amen. I believe in running away from reality in any possible way. In the dark of a theatre before the curtains rise and after they fell again. I believe in silence and in the power of the word. In the white page and in the black ink. In the immortality of art.
It's not a matter of " to be or not to be", it's more a matter of leaving a trace of our passage, or leaving without people noticing.
Hamlet left a trace of himself.
(just realized in Italian it sounded much better.. the trouble of translation..)