The need to leave a sign that will not be lost in the future, nor forgotten in an inconsolable abandon of the selfishness and the freedom to go and never come back, until the loneliness comes.
Only the silence still says our name, we hear a far-off echo at the end of our memories. We live and die in an unique name resounding in our ears and we are not longer certain whether we heard it for real.
In the oxymoron everything comes true: in the purity of a body and in the rust of the place; in the celestiality of the spirit guide and in the tonnes of iron that – as static stalactites- tell us about a already fallen prehistory.
The human being is going adrift and let himself go searching for a material and industrial happiness. The human being has changed his route, who is still wandering without destination and maybe, now, thanks to his guide he will find his way.