Accelerate. Accelerate. Accelerate.
And in the speed, some flowers. A rusty fence and some flowers that parade Death, noting the colours and nuances and unknowingly bringing back reminiscences of a scream hidden in each one, in all of us, under the mark of diesel and tar. They’re flowers that are not flowers. And maybe even they look at themselves and wonder why they’re flowers, in a place that violates you with the wind and with ignorance and the rain and with looks that last a period of time that only belongs to speed, haste, and the distance between smoke and oxygen. And your laugh, too.
You shut up.
And it’s the oxygen that rusts the fence, and sometimes it draws the push that catapults you again, and it draws it, relentlessly, between my obsessions of…
The road, imperfect, unfinished, and the intermittent sound of the keys that force you think: the sound of the first journey and the first accident. The luck of my love for you not ending. Of feeling your frozen skin and your empty reflection in the silver of the key holder. And it rings, you can hear it. It is a sound that can be made only by something that takes me even further away. The tunnel. A refuge that escapes me just as quickly.
The only thing left is the luck of one morning, the petrol stations and the smell of tobacco after we got it on. All out. The chance of the fears we fill with flowers and medals and pleads. And in them, I’m yours. Yours in a receipt, with the price covered up from our Saturday together, yours in the swinging cross pendant – amen – when you got on top of me and in the crying echo of the photos. And the fear, so thick, obsessing, that wants to bring you back to me at each turn, and I only imagined you collecting the petals and being more than the glances that last what’s left of your lifetime. So I know that you, meanwhile, aren’t rusting.
But here, speeding up, speeding up, speeding up.
Text by Marc Barceló
Created by Pineal Studio
Music by Code Noir
Starring Javier Ruiz and Rocio Alvárez