A Poem about an Old Recording

24.8.2020

Once, I collaborate with a video-art work

My friend was doing. He asked me

To answer a simple question:

“How does your dream person look like?”

Back to those days

I recorded this:

A student of math, chemistry or physics, something far yet relatable to art

A countryside shy boy, elegantly clumsy, curly black hair, no beard, I hate beards. A strange lack of personality, soft voice, a cute smile, he'd express an innocent sincerity while talking about his pastimes, even if they were embarrassing.

Funny,

When the exhibition opened

A few months later, I heard for the first time

My own recorded voice repeating these same words, over and over for 2 months straight

And I remember thinking

“This isn’t me”. I felt so exposed, like if an old secret that I locked away for so long was suddenly revealed and rubbed in my face. Of course, only I knew how to decode it. Only I could visualize his no longer desired lovely face and what happened the days after that recording.

I felt ashamed and thought maybe I should ask my friend to delete my part, there were plenty of other audios that could replace mine in his video art. But I couldn’t do it.

Days passed, as I slowly started to digest that uncorfortable sensation, I also began to understand it.

My friend’s video-art showed these recordings with long frames of empty places and situations, like a metro travel. From time to time the metro doors opened, but nobody entered, no one was on the station. Or like a corridor view that could feel like a still image, if it weren’t for a faint light flickering beside the lifeless elevator.

My friend’s vision was clearer than mine

And it finally hit me

From that moment on

From time to time

People ask me that same question

Or I do it as an exercise:

“How does your dream person look like?”

And I always answer the same way:

Brown long hair, a little dot on his green eyes;

Skinny athletic body, funny english accent and kind;

A female appearance, blond hair and a bad temper;

An older manly face, arabic nose and rough hands;

Funny, charming and good at flirting, but not a good kisser;

Short stature, tanned skin, good taste in fashion and passionate about the beach;

Spoiled angry baby that grew too much and ride a Yamaha Road Star

And if you asked me now

I would say:

A tall Capricorn, introverted and brilliant, prefers listening than speaking, smooth skin, round eyes and a beautiful Adam’s apple, soft boyish heart with a temper, gets easily angry.

And when I am not in love at all

I tell them love is a silly thing and I never loved anyone