How do I wind up in cemeteries? Seems our guides, or friends find the largest and most historic dead-zones for us to wander (and wonder) about. So on February 2, 2019 - at about 10am: Here’s a moment in El Cementario Recoleta where Argentina’s largely 1822-1960 very rich and/or famous are spectacularly interred. It’s a tourist magnet. And at its epicenter my Canon 7D MkII snapped this decisive Buenos Aires moment. Our brains are wired to bring order to puzzles. To find meaning in disparate stuff.
And in the park's epicenter - with all of the ornately crafted and bejeweled mausoleums about, my camera found this decisive moment of passers-by...
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| Strangers among the dead |
“So… did’ja ever see a
poem?” she asked, her foot tapping.
.
“Y’know, in another language?
Maybe Spanish? But, like,
I don’t understand Spanish.”
“So… I’gotta’ geek at words that
sorta look English-ly?”
That foot twitched quicker.
“Which reveals what?
Maybe there’s sorta’
D-E-E-E-E-P stuff in there?”
She paused, foot tapping loud.
“So… well look at this image.
It’s kinda like that.”
Her tapping paused…
“You know what I’m sayin’?”
Well do you... um... know what she's sayin'? There seems to be a story in that image, perhaps a visual poem... haunting me as much as the opulently haunted little bone-homes lining the avenues which lead to esta centro del Necrolpolis de Recoleta.
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