Noise Layers

I fell in love with the city when I only knew its name. I didn’t know anything else about it before I visited it. It never happened to me in relationships with people. When I saw the city I’d fallen in love with when I’d only known its name, I could now love both the city and the name. I never met a person whose name I’d known and about whom I’d felt the same I did about the beloved city.

In another city, I sensed an echo of the photograph I’d seen in a city in another corner of the planet. The photograph was of the city I visited at one point, but it was the picture of the cityface from a couple of decades prior to that. I was not in that city at the time when the photo was taken. And yet, there was something in the sunlight on a crispy spring afternoon, which felt more like an extended fadeaway of the winter, that I thought was akin to that glow in the picture. Something that didn’t want to be reached. Couldn’t. Or, is it in the opposite direction that the glow should be read?

Perhaps it is how the light was changing in the other part of the world. Quite some time ago. Late August usually brought evenings not as hot as the way July treated us. Gradual drop in temperature meant an almost seamless sneak into the first days of September. Then, afternoons meant not only the season change and a quantitative continuation of the accompanying phenomena. Sunshine felt like an aura of a hermit. Only later, perhaps decades onwards, did I realize the detachment saturating the air of those bygone years had nothing to do with sunshine. It was layers of noise that created a sense of aloofness normally not attributable to those nurturing rays.

Not the same, but somewhat comparable to that temporary bewilderment, happened with people. Sometimes, it feels that layers of noise are not semi-permeable enough. To try to weaken the porousness of that obstacle is not the way that could enable smooth communication flow.

Something else may : if we realize that the reason the sun does not feel as friendly as it is is a noise jungle preventing us to hear each other say at the same time : 

I like the language I can understand and speak. It’s called the poetics of the remix.