Appunti dalla Polonia

Woke up at 14:30, in an hour and a half it was already dark. No, not sunset, *night*. Fucking black. I met a photographer once, he told me he sees in black and white, he lives in black and white, he senses the world in black and white. That's why his black and white photos are so much better then his color pics. I then thought, well, I don't. Life is color (beware, not "colored") for me; black and white is just a little part of it; black and white is about shape, but color is life given to a shape.
Now, since my black and white pictures came out so much better then their colored cousins, there are only two possibilities: either I am black and white, or this place is black and white. I can't tell which one of them is true, actually this place is more greish then anything else now, and I also feel quite greish. I wouldn't say blue, because I'm not really depressed; it's just that I feel grey. This has been quite a grey week. But yesterday party was black. And a little red. The kebab was light grey, the taxi was dark grey, the room was black again. This morning- i mean, this afternoon when i woke up, it was almost white, but i felt grey anyway. And in a short time it was black again. I hoped for some light to come from a certain girl, but I guess she had other things to do. I'll go shopping, to lighten this black that comes from everywhere. I'll buy black and white clothes. And blue jeans, but they count as black. Maybe color is just an illusion, to hide shapes which in the end do not exist, or are empty. Generally what looks good in color is meaningless if turned black and white and viceversa. But what looks good in color is appearence, while what looks good in black and white is substance.