annie boonny skates to the fuckin CEMETARY
originally created: 24/08/2023
last updated: 04/05/2024
Update: Hotlinks fixed!
This one time, I remember, I was waiting for my bus at the station, late at night. There was a handful of people sitting near me, also waiting, and it was very clear I was the oddball there: all black, lilac chewed up nails, writing in a shabby old notebook. They were all worker, middle-aged women who knew each other and were talking about me, as far as I could hear, until conversation died and there was a quite comfortable silence. Then, I looked at the lady right next to me, she looked back and we shared a smile, and that was pretty nice. I took a dead flower I had, pressed inside my notebook and gave it to her. But suddenly, her expression turned completely upside down. She was confused and scared, gesticulating a vade retro satana while getting up to sit far from me. That reignited their conversation, now much more hush-hush, with sneaky side looks and all that stuff. My heart hurt, because I got the message very well, and I was holding back tears until I got home.
If you've been here for a while, you know of my relation with dead flowers. If you've been here for longer, you know of my relation with death. Either way, in sum I just don't really get death like most people. Not in an autistic way or anything, I know the impact of death and can sympathize with the general feeling towards, but I, myself don't give it much importance. Death is normal, it's natural and, to me, life is nothing but a bridge. The sight of death, be it in a dead flower or shallow graves in cemetary grounds, is not grim, but a beautiful and adequate reminder, poetically and philosophically, of the inexorable cycle of nature. As natural beings, fauna and flora, we're bound to it, just as every other that preceded and will succeede us. Embracing fate is the best anyone can do for themselves, and will do when time comes —be it however it does. Having this awareness means opening up to more possibilities, such as being thankful when someone gives you a flower, be it dead or not; or such as truly being an animal.
Not long ago I went to a cemetary for the very first time. Before that, I never really expressed any interest to, and getting there, it was just as underwhelming as I ever thought it would be. Gravestones were all around almost as far as the eye can see, each with its own sort of individuality, holding down old people, young people, babies even, and some even had the face of the person printed in marble. Knowing all those corpses were there was like knowing everybody around you was eating lunch at noon, not surprising or that big of a realization; strolling parmi the graves was not a dreadful thing as common sense made me think like it should be, and I honestly could not feel less inspired. So, I went from end to end, took some pictures with the rest of the energy in the batteries I was carrying, and once they were emptied out, I went home. The photos themselves yielded some nice visuals, but that's honestly about it. Looking back, though, I now feel entitled to actually capturing interesting experiences out of a cemetary scenario, and make justice to it, enough to fill up a Trove album if anything.
So, now, here you go, Season 3 is officially here. Hope you enjoy.
Poor people cemetary
The naked tree
Melted plastic flowers
[cropped]
Sunk cross
The woes of a moneyless life
Landscape
Cemetary flowers
All these red flowers were planted within a single black marble grave, and were the most beautiful sight in that whole place.
You can use these pictures for non-commercial purposes, I probably won't oppose, but give proper credits and let me know through the e-mail on the About section if you do.