ARCADIA

I saw life, I saw moments cut down the Tiber with bright guiding lights showing nothing but broken glass, smoked cigarettes, the beautiful tanned beauties of the Roman night, bottles bubbling up in the big stream, a gull clamping a neck of a pigeon, spilling out the draining life of the fluttering bird, all some sign of the time, and the changing of the days. Every ancient God, and Goddess would question this drowning metropolis from their high heaven, beyond the mind’s eye, after reality and in the middle of the dancing reverie. I can’t say I’ve seen every mountain top, and sight, but this place is unlike the next, touched by time, revolved by shadows, and dreamt in the minds of the dreamers too concerned with life to see it.

To see and feel it, and grab the night, feel the times that hold your soul to the fire, with the essence of the being from every strand of color that can be seen on the ceiling of the Pantheon or through any random cobble streaked back way entrance to a supposed Holy, to the clouds down into the dark world of the every day blur, a passage to the unknown, the reading of the spirit, and the drugged dreams of the sublime.

Campo

The sun cut down over the cobble roads, the vendors sold, scooters buzzed by. I woke up, walked from my apartment to a place I’ve never been, a scene like a painting, and I swear I’ve never seen so many gorgeous people men and women alike. What a dream. The heat rose but that Roman breeze took me to the God’s steps. It was warm and motherly, and I knew then that everything was okay. The smells intensified, voices of the angelic Romans rose like a choir wrapping every trickling edge of the town square. Beauty never stops, it never relents, it just goes on and on, completely breaking any preconceived ideas. I know it works, but I don’t want to know, how or why, it would take the truth from it, the colors wouldn’t be as bright, and sounds not so real. Beauty is real, yet it’s temporary, and only in moments, but that will never stop me from attempting to wrap myself around it every waking moment.

Sala Delgi Orazi e Curiazi

Men crashing over one another, horses rearing their heads in fear and complete terror, swords ripping in and out of the flesh of simple men meeting their ends. Time slowed down completely, every moment, motion, and maker seen. Thinking we haven’t changed a bit, barbarous is still barbaric, death is still the end, life still dies, and we exist for conflict and some for the moments where they feel most alive, and those seconds where the life of a being is seen slowly trickling away, eyes roll into oblivion, out of creation and towards every God’s reeling approval.

Pantheon

The thing about at least Rome I’ll never forget is the people. Devin, Ben, and I were walking along the river already 30 minutes late. Plodding through our memories thinking we knew where we were going, lost as ever.

“The next bridge.”

“Yeah, at the of the island right?”

“Then up, and over, I think?”

“Nah, definitely down there past that café and around the next.”

We came to the second bridge and it wasn’t any closer at all. Devin had the nearest street to the Pantheon written down, and he pointed at it while walking up to an older couple.

They stopped and nodded their heads, “si, si, si.” They both waved their arms in the, follow us sort of way. We did. We followed through the winding narrow cobble stoned streets, motorbikes, and compact cars buzzing behind and in front. The old man pointed out certain places through broken English yet mostly Italian with the woman always up ahead telling us to walk quicker, saying something to the man which made him smile and shake his head every time.

The walk went on for 30 minutes or so. We probably wouldn’t have gotten to the Pantheon if it wasn’t for them, we wouldn’t have actually seen the things we saw, lived the way they do. They went off of their course, and showed us the way, for what? For just being there, for simple courtesy, I hope that one day I’ll do the same. The man could’ve been anyone, yet he was everyone at in those moments, he was Rome, and he was beauty right then and there, he was God in those brown loafers, navy slacks, and red polo, or at least some Holy being. He led us to a place that frightened invaders because of its overwhelming beauty; it put God in men where no God had been present. I walked up and into the Pantheon and the high ceiling dropped my jaw, and cool breeze flowed from behind. It was so open, and perfect. Not a single thing to distract you, and it’s a time where it’s totally acceptable to stare at the ceiling with nothing in your mind. People meditate to clear their minds of things that are hanging in them, but seeing this put me into a state beyond clarity. It was a crazed fueling punch of peace, fear, and infatuation that the human race was ever capable of creating something so Godlike that it makes you want to believe.

Mameli

I certainly got lost. The winding roads, and back alleys all leading to somewhere. Hard to really say lost I suppose when I only know a handful of places in this city marked by some sort memory. I walked through a narrow pocket that I had sauntered through last night with a bottle of red. I went down a darker shaded back alley, for a half block and saw a worn tanned man shooting junk into his toes with a tall bottle of Peroni at his side. I stepped back, put my head down, and then continued on. But in those few seconds I saw his eyes roll into his head, his soul raise to some God, and his heroine crippled body roll back onto the ancient steps where he sat. It wasn’t disgusting nor beautiful, it just was. I don’t know his world, and I barely even know my own.

Here I sit in this café with a tall bottle of Peroni at my side watching life roll, and the breeze reverberate by the passing Romans so beautiful that I could cry to the supposed heavens pounding my fists on the pavement wanting nothing.

First day in Roma

Roma is a mess. Congested, crowded, seeping from every crevice in the entirety of the city. There’s more grass in New York for god’s sake. For all that, it is beautiful beyond real words. The first thing I saw that was the movement of the people, the Roman’s speech, the way they express, and grace every moment. The language is apart of their bodies, and the way they interact. Time is truly slowed down unless you’re on a back of a scooter, or in the seat of a taxi clutching for your life, and proclaiming your faith in God.

I met an older couple on the 9 hour plane ride over from JFK.  We touched on the subjects of music, work, politics, but most of all living. Living with a whim, and not thinking too far ahead. Relying more on the experiences, and colors of life rather than the financial structures that we Americans seem to press upon more than most. Not necessarily saying that’s a bad thing, but I think it can detract from the beauty, the true dripping essence of life. If you can’t slow down and feel the breeze through your body, and the reverberations down the sidewalk, then what the hell are you up to? You look up from your shoes, and the street vendors are selling their goods, and the baristas going out for a smoke, moving their lips so expressively, throwing up a hand or two.

Apparently I got here a day early. But before that revelation I probably got swindled by a well spoken Italian man at the airport.

He said, “100 for the taxi, or 65 for the van.”

“Ah, I’m gonna take the bus or train.”

“45.. how bout that?”

“45?”

“Si.”

“All right.” I got in and there was a couple in the front seat, small tanned beauty from Sicily, and a young man from Lebanon. They were both living in Lebanon. He worked in tech for “Dunk’n Donuts”, I told him Starbucks was better, and he just laughed. A family from Brazil was in the back seat, and I tried to communicate to the father through broken Spanish. We got our points across.

I got into the center of Rome and eventually to my apartment after speaking with the locals getting an all right sense of how to slow down my speech, and communicate. I was the only one in my apartment, but the cleaners weren’t done so I left my bags and went out to explore. I found a small café and sat down and had some small pizza like things, and an Italian beer. I thought I was sticking out as an obvious American but I was approached many times by other Italians, and some British folks asking for directions. I shrugged my shoulders, and muttered some Spanish. Motor bikes sped by with men in linen suits, ladies walked by speaking sweetly, the breeze flowing down the street. I stared down at my beer, and tried to condense everything that seemed to be happening, and it was something along the lines of,

Loosen the gears, stare at the stars, chase dreams, believe in passion to a delusional degree, listen to music, read poetry, love