[Suggested listening: Soko - 'Diabolo Menthe'.]
Outside snow wisps through the city beyond my window; a soft flurry of flakes dancing incongruously.
Inside my house is a cooling block. Everyone is tucked in and silent. I am surrounded by the peace of housemates who have just fallen into the depths of sleep.
My laptop ticks and whirrs in the stillness of room; the only thing forming momentum. The sound irritates me, as most such unplanned noises do.
CLOSE YOUR EYES
ASK FOR INNER PEACE
In this cleared space and state, I present myself with the two options unfolding around me: positive | negative
The negative would be to focus on the lecture on surveillance I've just had.
To dwell on the fact that we are all being watched, often with our own consent, but not necessarily in compliance to our will.
That, I decide, is a story for another day - or perhaps one I shall avoid altogether. The positive is always more calming.
My laptop fan ticks on and, with eyes still closed, I think back to the days of pellicola and film projectors. I go back to the realm of the Silver Screen.
I imagine, now, with head tilted back, this constant whirr coming from behind me, and in front of me I picture a film with the warmth of the Mediterranean, the calmness of the sea,
The frivolities of being a teenager again. I think in shades of auburn, shades of tan - I think of the actual shade.
The peaceful, cooling shade on a hot summer's day.
I feel the rock burning beneath my thighs and gradually the laptop, the film, the technology all fade away.
True sound melts into memorised sound; melts into looping waves building up with the change of tide. The sunset. Memories drip in, lapping against my mind the way water laps against rock.
I know, if I open my eyes now, I might not get the chance to sleep tonight. So I curl up, my duvet quilting me rather than the sun's rays, and I dose off.
[Film reference: 'Nuovo Cinema Paradiso', Dir. Giuseppe Tornatore, 1988]