In You

Museo Thyssen- Bornemisza

Edward Hopper, Hotel Room

 

 

 

 

 

 

He sat in the cafe up in the open-air balcony drinking and smoking with her. It was a hot day in Istanbul.

He thought about the fact that just an hour ago in their hotel room they were making love and his hands were rising and falling as as he caressed the smooth curved surface of her body, the perfume of her hair that intoxicated him into animal flesh dreams. The stars of their bodies poured out and evaporated into the cool air-conditioned atmosphere of the room.

What was vital here is that they were making memories together in the hotel room. That they would be bound by these memories. Connected by these memories. These memories would never let them go. They would also never let these memories go. This was their meaning. This was their meaning together. For life is nothing if it is not memory-making. There is no more vital life function. Memory is the stuff of dream creation. Memory gives us conscious perception. Without memory there is no conscious perception.

Although he once cherished his independence as an American male on the international scene, he sensed that these memory-formations in the act of lovemaking were binding his life to another. Theirs was a love song tattooed into each other’s flesh. There would be no returning home without the other. Her lips had now become the bioelectric circuits of memory, without which, no future is possible…

He then reflected  on the nature of hotel rooms. Especially for them, since, in a sense, they were both fundamentally homeless. They had no home in this world anymore, if they’d ever had one.

Hotel rooms were the only place they truly felt at home. Once in a hotel room, you can be any place in the world; you are no longer tied to a particular place. Everything is temporary. You are just visiting. Just like this life, this world. The uniformity of many hotel rooms gives one a sense of universality. In an Ibis hotel room, for instance, you could be in Ouro Preto, Geneva, Marrakesh, Bursa, Belgrade, etc… You are just visiting. You are an alien observer. No longer tied to any specific community or culture with its rigors, demands or expectations. You are only recognized as human. A global citizen. The one responsibility is that of being a good world citizen. To love those you meet with a smile and a ‘good morning’, ‘good afternoon’ or a ‘good evening.’

And each was a love song tattooed into the surface of the body beneath the skin of the other. He sat in the cafe up in the open-air balcony drinking and smoking and turned to her with a look that said: All my dreams begin and end in you…

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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