LomoKino_film35mm_collaboration by Suzanne Bernhardt, 2014-15. See Giglio Island. The body of a hermit was found dead inside a cave. He was a dear friend to a poet I had interviewed some few months ago. The poet had he eyes closed, just like the hermit; like a meditating corpse. He had withdrawn from the world, alone, with determination, without leaving a trace so as to stop shouting, so as to stop thinking, in order to survive. It was the most humble of gestures, yet this action mustered pride, for it takes pride and stubbornness to think one might actually be able to do without men. When finding a refuge, a cave, and becoming accustomed to the cold, to hunger, to solitude, and to nature’s absence of absurdity; after some years, a thread between memories and how we remember them finds its peace. Thought process starts to change along with the body, which becomes more rigid; the feet move like the roots of a tree. A naked body appears as if not naked, like the fur of an animal, would we think of it as naked? Maybe the word has finally become a distant vehicle for thought. To do nothing. To seek no more.
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