The ways of elegance are like the routes of airplanes by night. Nobody knows where they are. We imagine them up high, like bicycles with the lights of curiosity always turned on, that fly in obscurity over cities of seething clouds.
All you need to do is close your eyes, or open them by night in the open air, with your nose turned upward. You can perceive an infinite and unknown world that pushes you to go deeper. Where shapes draw other shapes. Where elegance is made of long scarves as milky as the curving arms of the galaxies.
What if we tried to descend into our fantasies like transparent smoke? From the eyes, slipping down the cheeks, until overflowing into that landscape of possibilities that is where the chin meets the feelings. Where white marries black.
In the end we’d discover that the film in black and white is us. The living, all together and increasingly numerous. A human landscape of textures and colors that build new cities of fabric and styles. A mine of urban tailoring stowed in a sort of incubator full of amniotic fluid, in which to dissolve together and be reborn into new forms with new ideas.
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